Inside Out
by lizardmm
Summary: Most stories start at the beginning. This one starts at the end. Post-Chosen.
1. Chapter 1: The End

**A/N:****  
**Some of you have been requesting that I post "Inside Out" to FF, so here it is!

Also, I've recently published my 4th full-length original novel, _Apophis: A Love Story for the End of the World_. If you like my fan-fiction and you like apocalypse/dystopian worlds with some romance thrown in, check out _Apophis_, available exclusively at Amazon.

Happy reading!

- Eliza Lentzski

**Chapter One:**

**POV Buffy**

_Suggested listening: "Inside Out" – Britney Spears_

A pair of hazel eyes, freckled with green flecks stare back at me. I run my dark eyeliner from the middle of my bottom lid to the corner and smudge the line with the tip of my index finger. My face is a few inches from the bathroom mirror. I cover my eyelids with a light dusting of beige – almost the color of my skin – the top of my lid in a dusty brown, and a shock of white eye shadow along my brow bone.

I lean back and inspect my work to make sure my eyes are even. Satisfied with the look, I rest my weight against the bathroom countertop again and apply a thin coat of mascara to my upper and lower lashes. I blink a few times, making sure the lashes don't stick together or leave behind any tiny black marks on my cheekbones.

I know it's ridiculous to get dressed up when she's just coming over to give me back my things, but part of me wants to remind her of what she's giving up. It's perfectly normal to want to look your best when you see an ex, right?

Right?

There's a sharp knock at the front door, and I immediately know it's her. It's not that I can _feel _her through the closed door – she's just always had an uncanny way of sneaking inside my apartment building without me buzzing her in. I blame it on those damn dimples. Or her chocolate brown eyes. Or the way her breasts look in a v-neck.

I shake myself from thoughts of her many admirable, uh, _qualities_ when there's a second knock, this time louder.

I check my reflection once more in the hallway mirror. My hair's freshly washed, dried, and flat-ironed. She always likes it when I wear it down. I flatten my palms down the front of my thin top that clings to my slight curves. Skinny jeans round out the outfit, which brings a smirk to my lips.

When I first bought these pants, she'd told me they made me look like a skeleton. Instead of being insulted, I'd promptly pushed her onto a chair and straddled her in my "skeleton" jeans. She never made any wardrobe comments after that.

With my mind swimming with memories of her, I open the door. She's standing in the hallway, holding onto a box.

"Hey," I say, a little breathlessly. I nervously swipe a few stray hairs away from my forehead.

"Hey." Her voice is emotionless and flat. Kind of like our relationship the past month.

I clear my throat when she continues to just _stand there_. "Do you want to come in?" I ask.

"Not really."

Not gonna lie. Her response is unexpected and the words sting more than I'd like to admit.

"I just came to drop these things off," she explains, nodding toward the topless box in her arms. I can see a few of my tank tops and a flat iron poking out. "I wasn't planning on staying."

I sigh and lean against the doorframe. "Just come in," I say trying not to grit my teeth. "I've got some of your things to give back, too."

She hesitates in the hallway.

"Faith," I say, trying to make my voice sound more resolved, more in control. "Come in."

Her face clouds over at my command. "Fine."

I take a step back, away from the door, and she walks in. "Where do you want this stuff?" she gruffly asks. Her mood is seriously souring me. I wouldn't have bothered to shave my legs if I knew she was going to be such a grouch.

"On the kitchen table is fine," I sigh, closing the front door.

She sets the box down, almost gingerly, but the contents still manage to rattle around.

"So you said you had stuff for me?"

I watch her carefully. She's clearly uncomfortable being here. Not that I blame her. "Not really," I slowly admit. "I just wanted an excuse to get you alone in my apartment."

"God damn it, B," she curses.

I hold up my hands. "I'm sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke, apparently," I grumble. "I've got your stuff in my bedroom."

She rolls her eyes.

"I seriously do!" I squeak. "It's not a ploy to get you in there…"

She shoves her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "Uh huh."

Nothing in her tone says she believes a word I say. I wouldn't believe me either if I were her though. I haven't exactly had the best "I'm-telling-the-truth" credibility as of late.

"Fine," I snap, turning briskly on my heels. "I'll get your stuff for you since you're too chicken to come into my bedroom yourself."

Before she can open her mouth and snap back some kind of smartass retort, I storm away, very dramatically I might add, into the back of my apartment. I make a big show of rattling things around in my bedroom like I'm seriously frustrated with her. I'm frustrated, yes. But it has little to do with her. _I'm_ the problem, not her. If only I could….

No.

I shake my head hard even though I'm the only one who can see. I'm not going to start dwelling on that again. What's done is done. If Faith and I were meant to be together, we would have been able to work past my shortcomings.

I look down at my hands and am surprised to see that they're shaking. I've managed to get physically agitated without even really trying. I take a few calming breaths and push the hair out of my face. "Get it together, Summers," I mutter to myself. "She's just a girl."

I stand straighter and grab the box of things I'd found around my apartment that belong to Faith. I wasn't lying – this time – I actually _did _have a box of her things in my room.

I walk out from the back of the apartment, her belongings in tow. I catch a glimmer of surprise on her face when she sees me with the box in my arms. I drop it heavily to the kitchen table, next to the box of my own things.

"Everything should be there," I say with just a hint of malice in my tone. "If I come across something else, I'll let you know."

She sheepishly picks up her box of things, careful not to bump into me. "Uh, thanks," she mumbles, casting her eyes to the floor.

I don't know why she can't just look at me. We dated for nearly half a year, and she can't even look me in the eye when she's saying goodbye? I feel like spitting out some seriously caustic words, but instead I bite the inside of my cheek to remain civil. We work together, after all.

Instead of tearing into her, I give her a curt nod.

She walks to the front foyer, and I brush past to open the door for her. I swear I hear an almost imperceptible gasp when my shoulder just barely brushes against hers. But maybe I'm just wishful thinking.

She steps into the hallway again, just a few minutes after she originally arrived. She rests the box on one hip, freeing up a hand.

She pushes out a sharp breath and rakes her fingers through her hair. My eyes travel to her hand and follow its path through the dark, chaotic waves. I loved tangling my fingers in that wild mane. Just a little tug and her knees would buckle.

"What?" Her uncomfortable face now appears suspicious.

I blink once. "What?"

"You were smiling." Her tone is accusatory as though she's caught me doing something wrong.

"I was?"

"Yeah, you were. You suddenly got this dreamy little half-smile on your face."

"I'm sorry." The mischievous grin is instantly banished from my face. "I didn't intend to smile in your presence."

Faith scowls. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how _did _you mean it?" I aggressively press.

"Fuck, B. I don't know how to act. I've never broken up with anyone before," she says almost apologetically. "You know I'd never been in a real relationship before you."

"Lucky me," I deadpan. "At least I was your first for something."

She sets her lips in a hard line. "This was a mistake."

"Yeah," I scoff bitterly. "Looks that way."

So much for this ending on a good note.

We stare at each other for an icy moment until I break the uncomfortable tension. "So, I'll see you at Willow's shop tomorrow?"

"Maybe. I dunno." She turns on her heels, ready to make an abrupt exit when I reach out and grab her by the elbow. I don't know why I do it. Reflex I suppose.

"Faith," I breathe.

She stiffens, but turns to me finally when it's clear I'm not going to let go. I'm surprised she hasn't shrugged me off and left, but more surprised when I see her face. It's not every day you see Faith Lehane cry.

The stubborn tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes make my resolve crumble. What can I say? I'm a sucker for tears. And I guess I've always been a sucker for her.

"Baby…" I soothe.

She drops the box in the hallway and envelopes me in an unexpected hug. As her arms go around me, I can feel her body shudder slightly with silent tears. I know she's too proud to actually cry, but it's still breaking my heart.

"Baby," I repeat, stroking the hair at the nape of her neck. Tiny tendrils wrap around my fingers. Her face is buried against my collarbone. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you have to smell so good?" she mumbles into my neck. "It's so distracting."

"W-were you trying to focus for some reason?" I stutter out.

"I'm trying so hard to hate you right now." Her lips move across the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder and I shudder.

My breath comes out in a shuddered sigh as her lips make their way up my neck and along the line of my chin. She pushes me against the wall, her face pressed against me, still not looking at my face.

She rakes her canines down the length of my neck and nips at the skin, making me jump. Her hand snakes around me and falls naturally into the small of my back. She presses there, arching my back so my front presses more solidly into her. I'm distracted by her mouth on my jugular and don't realize she's subtly pushing me back inside my apartment.

Somehow she's maneuvered both of us back inside. She deftly closes the front door behind her with the aid of just one foot. Her mouth is still latched to my neck, sucking gently at my skin. I feel the backs of my knees hit my living room couch and I'm falling backwards. She lands on top, her body weight not crushing me.

Her hand makes its way down the front of my jeans and dips just beneath the waistband of my underwear. When her fingers wiggle further south, she sucks in a sharp breath. Yep. I'm wet. Unabashedly so. I can feel it on the insides of my thighs and practically dripping down the crack of my ass.

If I were with anyone else, I'd probably be embarrassed and refuse to let them feel just how turned on I am. But she knows this about me. She knows what she does to my body.

The top fasten of my jeans is promptly unbuttoned and the zipper follows, and I'm frantically raising my ass off the couch cushions so she can pull my pants down my hips. She surprises me though by stopping and only pulling my jeans down to my knees.

I furrow my brow at her in frustration and confusion. The way my legs are trapped has limited my mobility. A maddening smirk flutters onto her face.

Her hands go to my inner thighs, and she pushes so my legs fall apart. It's like I'm pinned sitting Indian Style. The circulation is certainly going to get cut off from the lower half of my legs, but the way she's licking her full lips and eyeballing me like she hasn't eaten in days brings a fresh flood of red, hot blood through my body.

I realize I'm holding my breath. I have to remind myself to do a lot of things. Breath. Blink. Swallow. Repeat.

Her hands are still on my inner thighs. She squeezes my flesh and bends down. I suck in another sharp breath when her face becomes dangerously close to my panty-covered sex.

I'm suddenly very thankful I decided to shave this morning.

My hips involuntarily jerk when her nose bumps against my sex. She rolls her nose around my panty-covered clit and I'm unabashedly groaning at the contact. She tongues at my clit through the material of my cotton underwear, lazily flicking it back and forth. The fabric rubs and scratches at me in a delicious way, but nowhere near as good as when there's no barrier between us.

She presses her tongue fully against my sex, pushing the fabric into my hole. I thrust my hips into her, hoping for something more fulfilling, but so far she's content with teasing me to death.

"Please, Faith," I whimper.

Her dark eyes flash. She loves me like this. Vulnerable and begging her for some kind of release.

Her generous lips form a cocky smirk. Still refusing to take my pants or underwear completely off, she pulls the now-saturated fabric of my underwear to the side.

Something about the situation makes my pulse thump a little faster. It's totally unromantic. It's totally raw. It's like the woman I used to date left and the old Faith showed up to have her way with me. My legs are starting to ache from being pinned in this awkward position. She hasn't kissed me on the mouth. She's completely ignored my breasts. My nipples strain against the padding of my push-up bra. For all intents and purposes, I'm still fully clothed minus my jeans being halfway down my thighs and the crotch of my panties shoved to the side.

I throw my head back and allow myself an indulgent moan when her mouth finally comes into contact with my bare skin. She runs the flat of her tongue the full length of my slit. She takes her time. I swear I can feel every taste bud bumping against me. When she reaches the apex of my sex, her tongue quickly swirls around my aching clit. She sucks it into her mouth, but before I can fully enjoy myself, her mouth is suddenly gone.

I make a frustrated noise, but she only clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in response. "Patience," she tells me in a stern voice.

She runs the tips of her fingers over my shaved skin, still teasing. I'd do anything to wipe that smirk off her face, but I'm more afraid she'll stop. She presses harder the second run over and her digits slide through my wetness, just barely dipping in to part my nether lips.

"Yesss…" I hiss when she slowly penetrates me to the first knuckle.

I look down to watch the feminine finger press against me and disappear. It's terribly erotic. She slides her finger all the way out and before I can miss her, she pushes back in with two. My eyes roll back at the sudden intrusion, but I'm wet enough to easily accommodate her sudden impatience.

She settles into a slow and steady pace, and I'm content to recline my head against an end throw pillow and enjoy the ride. No sooner do I close my eyes, however, when I hear her voice again: "Watch me," she orders gruffly.

My eyes snap open and I lean forward slightly. I watch the corded muscles of her forearm flex and the concentration on her beautiful face as she pushes and pulls in and out of me. She brushes the pad of her thumb over my clit, and I swear I see stars.

With two fingers firmly inside me, she leans down again. Her warm breath tickles against my overheating pussy and I suck in a sharp breath, waiting to feel her mouth again. I don't have to wait much longer before she latches onto my clit and wraps those perfect lips around my hypersensitive nub.

I moan out my appreciation. God I've missed this. Her fingers. Her mouth. The way she knows what my body needs when I'm not brave enough to say the words.

She lays her free arm across my lower abdomen like a seatbelt. She keeps me pinned to the couch cushions despite how my hips jerk and try to thrust into her. I bite down on my lower lip and whimper. My body shakes. I can feel sweat trickle down my spine and pool in the small of my back beneath my t-shirt.

"Faith," I pant out in a short, punctuated breath.

She looks up at the sound of her name, but keeps her mouth on my clit and her fingers continually thrusting in and out.

"I-I'm close," I stutter out.

Her mouth curls up at the corners in a small smile, and her eyes lower back down to my pussy. Her tongue works frantically at my clit, rotating between sucking and licking and swirling around the sensitive bundle. Even if I hadn't told her how close I was to cumming, she'd be able to tell from the tightness of my pussy. Despite how my arousal lubricates her fingers, it's become increasingly difficult for her to slide into me.

She starts to thrust harder and my moans become louder. She bottoms out again and again, filling me up with the smooth stroke of her dedicated fingers. The sounds of slapping skin and the clicking of my wet sex fill the space. I grab onto her dark mane and desperately cling to her.

She rolls my clit, mashing it with her tongue, and it's enough to shove me off this cliff on which I've been teetering for the past few minutes. I clutch her hair, pulling at the roots and release a loud shout as my stomach tightens and I experience a sharp, intense wave of pressure.

She continues to slide in and out, prolonging my orgasm. Her mouth stills on my clit, knowing how sensitive I get immediately after. Her fingers begin to slow, downshifting gears from frantic to languor.

As I come down from my high, my breathing becomes less labored. I lean back on the couch and shut my eyes momentarily, just listening to the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I look up, however, when I feel Faith begin to peel my pants the rest of the way down my legs.

I raise a carefully manicured eyebrow at her in silent questioning. The smirk on her face splits into a full-wattage Faith Lehane double-dimpled grin.

"Don't you think it's time we get you out of these clothes?"

* * *

I wake up the next morning with sunshine warm on my face and my arms around Faith. After she'd had her way with me last night with my clothes still mostly on, we'd continued in the bedroom with only one wardrobe change. I have to admit, I slept more soundly last night than I have in a long time.

I look down at the woman deeply sleeping in my arms. She's got her head on my collarbone, and I hear her light breath coming and falling as she sleeps. I run my fingers through her dark locks and kiss the top of her head. She makes a quiet noise.

"Morning, hun," I murmur into her soft hair.

Faith's eyes flutter open, and I can practically see her brain churning as she tries to remember where she is. Instead of melting into my morning embrace, her body goes rigid. In a flash she's pushing me off of her and she's out of bed.

"What the hell?" I sourly call out as I'm hastily discarded.

She pulls her discarded t-shirt over her head. "This was a mistake," she croaks out in her thick morning voice. She shakes out her long, loose locks.

I sit up in bed, holding the cotton sheet against my naked torso. "What was?" I naively ask, but I already know the answer.

Faith grimaces. "I was momentarily weak last night. It won't happen again."

I stick my bottom lip out in what I hope is an irresistible pout. I really want her back in my bed. "Fai…why can't we just go back to the way things used to be?"

She shoots me an icy glare while searching for her socks. "You know why."

She pulls her jeans on, and without even bothering to zip up the front, she's out of my bedroom. I hear the chain rattle on my front door and the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked.

Then the door slams shut. I swear I can feel the shock waves reverberate through the walls.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: **

**Buffy POV**

I'm not sure why I don't just wait until I see her next. We see each other practically every morning at Willow's magic shop, after all. And it's not like she even noticed this t-shirt was missing. Who knows how long it's been missing from her wardrobe, and she hasn't once mentioned it being lost.

All I do know is that when I found it under my bed while cleaning this afternoon, I knew I had to see her. It was like a message from the Fates that I wasn't done with her yet. I thought I'd packed up and returned all her belongings, but there amongst the dust bunnies under my bed was her vintage _Barbarella_ t-shirt.

I remember the first time she wore it. I'm pretty sure I teased her for turning into another Cleveland hipster, what with the skinny jeans and ironic 1970s t-shirts. She pretended to be offended and then the next day showed up at my apartment with the DVD of _Barbarella_ in hand.

I don't remember much of the plot – it was mostly the main actress running around in a metal bustier. It was hard to concentrate on a bad sci-fi flick with Faith snuggled up next to me in my bed. What I _do _remember vividly, however, is how her t-shirt ended up on my bedroom floor.

So now I'm standing in the hallway of her apartment complex, standing in front of her apartment door. It smells like Indian food. It always smells like exotic food out here. Soft music wafts into the hallway, coming from Faith's apartment. It sounds familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it.

I knock on the door, loud enough so I know she'll hear me over her music, but not so hard that it sounds like I'm angry or impatient to see her.

I hear the music being turned down inside and the perceptible sound of footsteps toward the front door. There's a jangle of locks and chains and the door finally opens. Faith stands in the doorway. I can tell she's surprised to see me from the look on her face.

"Buffy?"

I give her my patented half-smile. She told me, one of the first nights we hooked up, that she'd always found it adorable. I can only hope it hasn't lost its affect.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

She glances nervously back into her apartment. It's fleeting, but I notice. "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why? Do you have someone in there?" I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

"No."

"Then why can't I come in?" I press impatiently. "And what's that on your face?"

Without thinking, I swipe my thumb against the corner of her mouth. I pull my finger away and see a slight stain on my skin. "Is that chocolate?"

Faith licks at the corners of her mouth. "Ice cream," she confirms with a nod.

"It's winter in the Midwest," I remind her.

Faith shrugs, not caring. "Ice cream makes me feel better."

"Oh. What are you upset about?"

Faith rolls her eyes. "What do you want, B?"

I thrust the cotton garment in her direction. "I just came over to give you back your shirt. I found it under my bed," I say, curling my nose at her rudeness.

"Thanks," she says, taking the t-shirt from me.

We both continue our game of chicken in the hallway. She hasn't indicated she wants me to stick around, but I'm not leaving so easily.

"You're really not going to invite me in?" I huff, stomping my foot a little.

She raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I don't know…" I say with annoyance. "To hang out?"

"To _hang out_?" Faith repeats with an amused look. "Babe, even when we were _dating _we hardly 'hung out.'"

"So just because we're not dating anymore, you don't want to be my friend?" I cluck. "Just because you're not getting in my pants anymore, you don't want to be friends?" I know I'm immature. But it's the only way I can think of to get what I want – her attention.

"Fine, fine," she grumbles. She opens her apartment door for me. "Come in."

"Well I don't want to now if you don't want me here." I fold my arms across my chest.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, bringing a palm to her forehead. "B, stop being a stubborn girl and just come in," she growls between clenched teeth. I can tell that I'm grating on her patience, so I don't play hard to get anymore.

"Fine," I huff in return and stomp into the apartment. I don't know why I always revert to a spoiled 6-year-old around her. It's definitely not an attractive quality.

Her laptop is on her coffee table and she goes to it and turns off the sound. The music that had been floating from the speakers abruptly cuts off.

"Were you listening to Adele?" I ask.

Faith nods.

"Isn't that, like, music to cut-your-wrists to? Wait." I look around the apartment as though searching for something. "I didn't interrupt a suicide attempt did I?" I'm only half joking.

She rolls her eyes at my antics. "No. Just me eating my emotions."

I wiggle out of my puffy winter jacket and hang it on a hook in the front foyer. I follow Faith into the living room and I sit down on her couch while she disappears momentarily in the direction of her kitchen.

I used to tease her how I thought it was the smallest kitchen in the history of kitchens – more like a closet than a galley. It should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for Tiny Kitchens. She even had to buy special baking sheets because the standard-sized wouldn't fit in her narrow oven. I hear the freezer open and close and the sound of dishes being tossed into her sink.

"You want something to drink?" she calls from the kitchen. I hear her open the refrigerator door. "There's beer, soda, some milk that may or may not have gone bad…"

"Beer's fine," I call out.

I hear the sound of glass bottles clinking together, the fridge door close, and the slight fizz-hissing of the carbonated beverages being opened. Faith reappears with a bottle of some local micro-brew in each hand.

"So," she breathes out as she sits down on the couch. "What's up?" She props her feet up on her coffee table and gets comfortable. She's sitting next to me, not exactly close, but also not as far away as she possibly could. It's like the comfortable distance between two friends.

"Not much." I take the pro-offered beer and down a quick swig of the amber colored liquid.

I was never much of a drinker until Faith and I started dating. And the few times I drank before that, I almost always stayed away from beer. You know why. But I've gotten pretty good at recognizing the different styles of beers and actually being able to enjoy them.

Plus, beer is safe alcohol. I always fill up before I can actually get drunk and make a fool of myself. I think more than anything that loss of control made me uneasy about the effects of alcohol. That's also what made me uneasy about Faith when I first met her so many years ago.

"What are you doing tonight?" I ask, vainly trying to make small talk.

Faith shrugs and takes a long pull from the long-necked bottle. Some condensation collects on her top lip, and she wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Was just hanging out, listening to music…"

"…and eating ice cream straight out of the carton," I finish for her with a coy smile.

She grins, not embarrassed. "I could have ice cream for every meal."

I laugh and poke her playfully in the stomach. "You mean you don't already? 'Cause it looks like someone's getting a little bit of a belly."

She knows I'm teasing. No one has abs like her. The first time I saw her bare abdomen I couldn't decide if I was envious or wanted to build a shrine to them. I think that was part of the problem between us in the first place – I couldn't decide if I was jealous of Faith or wanted her between my thighs.

She grabs my wrists when I seem to have hit a ticklish spot. There's nothing more adorable than seeing badass, leather-clad Faith Lehane giggle uncontrollably when I've got her pinned down and tickle her without mercy.

A rush of arousal floods over me just from the feeling of her hands roughly grabbing mine. I shudder and it doesn't go unnoticed. Faith slowly releases her hold, but her dark eyes drill into mine. The chocolate-colored orbs flash with her recognizable intensity. Although she no longer physically holds me, the dangerous glint in her eye replaces that vise.

She carefully wets her lips and slides subtly closer to me on the couch. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her through the thick denim of her jeans. I know we probably shouldn't be doing this again – not after the last time. But I can't fool myself. I didn't come over to return a damn t-shirt. I came over for _this._

As much as she's angry at me right now for the things I wasn't very good at, we've never been any good at ignoring the connection – this need – between us. I considered it unhealthy and distracting in the beginning, but I began to feel better after it germinated into a real relationship. Sleepovers and dates and flowers and things like that.

My hands slide along the tops of her thighs, and I lightly play with the bottom hem of her t-shirt. She loves her witty, ironic t-shirts, but I've pointed out to her time and again that they're hard to read when her breasts distort the words. Plus, who wants to read when you could stare at those instead?

She sighs, almost resigned that she can't fight this feeling. I know because I feel it, too. Her hand comes up to cup my cheek. She strokes her thumb along my skin and I close my eyes and turn my face into her. I press my lips against the pad of her thumb and let the tip of my tongue just barely play.

I can hear her swallow hard. I don't have to look up to know that those dark eyes are trained on me. Her hand falls away from my face and I'm left wanting more. More contact. More _her._

She no longer makes eye-contact as she traces patterns on the back of my hands.

I take the initiative and press into her unsuspecting mouth. My hands instinctively slide up her front, up her neck, and I intertwine my fingers into her loose locks. It feels like coming home every time we kiss.

I moan into her mouth when she lightly sucks on my tongue. Her mouth tastes like a combination of hops and chocolate, and it's unexpectedly delicious.

I feel her palms on my chest plate. But instead of pulling me closer, she's pushing me away.

"We need to stop," she says with difficulty. Her breath is ragged and she turns her flushed face out of view.

"What do you want me to do, Fai?" I ask, annoyed at her rejection. I ball up my fists on my lap to keep from reaching for her again. "What can I do to make this thing better so we can get back to where we used to be?"

"You know what I want, B," she says sourly. "And you can't honestly be surprised at the request. I think I've been pretty patient with you, considering."

"Don't you know that it's bad to force someone to Come Out when they're not ready?" I hiss. "Haven't you ever seen_ Glee_?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Buffy!" Faith swears with emotion. "We're not in high school in anymore. You're a grown ass woman!"

I frown, feeling cross. "Just because I'm older, that doesn't mean this has been any easier on me."

"Your best friend is gay," she points out.

"So?" Willow's sexuality has nothing to do with mine.

"And it's not like you have parents to Come Out to," she unnecessarily adds.

I swallow hard and blink a few times. "That's unfair," I choke out. My tongue feels like it's gotten thicker in my mouth and has made it impossible to speak.

"I'm sorry," she immediately apologizes. I can see the remorse and sincerity in her dark, pooling eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. It was uncalled for. I'm just upset about this, ya know?"

I take a deep breath, willing the prickly tears to subside. "Why is this thing so important to you? What was wrong with us before?"

Faith chews on her lower lip. My eyes get drawn to that generous mouth I was only moments before enjoying. I don't know why she has to make such a big deal out of this. I liked how private our relationship had been. Like it was our little, perfect secret that no one could mess up because they didn't know about it.

"Because when you hide who you are," Faith starts with a deep breath, "when you hide our relationship from everyone…you make me feel like you're ashamed of me."

"Fai, I'm _not _embarrassed of you." I grab her hand and I shake my head adamantly. "It's not like that at all. I'm just…I-I've never been comfortable with PDAs, regardless of who I was with." That's not exactly true, but maybe she won't call my bluff.

"I'm not asking for you to make-out with me in public, Buffy," Faith sighs. She leans back on the couch and pulls her hand free to rake her fingers through her hair. Whenever she does that, my mind wanders to inappropriate visuals. "I just want to hold your hand, and not just when we're alone or when we're in a dark movie theater."

I drop my head in guilt.

The next words that leave her lips are almost a whisper. A pained whisper. "I need you to leave."

I snap my head up. "What? Why?" I demand. "What'd I do this time?"

Faith shakes her head and closes her eyes. "I just can't see you right now, okay?" Her voice starts to crack with emotion. "Everything is too fresh, too raw. I need some time to get over you."

"But I don't _want _you to get over me!" I exclaim. My body jerks violently, and I nearly knock over my beer bottle on the coffee table.

She opens her eyes and glares at me. "Then do what you have to do to make this right."

She stands stiffly from the couch, and I realize that I've worn out my welcome. I stay seated momentarily, just considering my options. I can refuse to leave until she relents and lets me stay or until she physically kicks me out. Or I can make a dramatic exit and make her feel guilty for making me leave.

God, why does this always have to be about control? I shouldn't want to leave just to manipulate her. I slam back the rest of my beer and fight down the wave of nausea that suddenly hits me.

She's standing by the door, which is now open, waiting for me.

I stand up and wipe my hands on my jeans. I walk to the door and grab my jacket from its hook. I meet her eyes briefly as I pause to slip into my winter coat. "Thank you for the beer," I say crisply on my way out.

The door closes behind me, and I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It's oppressive. It's crushing me. I should be used to this feeling…apocalypses and all. But this time, I can't rely on my friends to help me save the world. I'm the only one who can help me.

And I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: **

I'm in hell.

You'd think Willow – what with being an all-powerful Wicca – could just snap her fingers and we could be done with this mess. Instead, she insists we do things the "old-fashioned" way and rely on a little Slayer elbow grease. When I was first Called, never in a million years did I ever think my abilities and strength would be used for _this_. Nothing in the Slayer handbook has prepared me for this.

When did I become a cleaning service?

"Hey, Buffy?" I hear my best friend's voice calling from above. Her tone wavers between embarrassment and apology. "You missed a spot."

I huff a breath, pushing stray hair out of my face. "You wanna do this instead?" I call up to Willow. She's peering down at me over the railing from the second floor loft. I wave my scrubbing brush at her.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. She bites her bottom lip. "I just want it done right, yunno?"

I let out a quiet grumble, but I nod my head in acquiescence. I roll and flex my weary shoulders and begin again.

I'm on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floors like I'm some damsel in distress from a fairy tale. I guess that makes Willow the wicked-stepmother/evil witch. The irony brings a smirk to my lips as I continue to scour the floor of the Magic Shop II.

When we first relocated from California to Cleveland, it made a lot of sense for us to find another occult business, like the Magic Shop. Willow reasoned it was a sound investment, would provided us with a central meeting location for slayer-business, and could keep us connected to the occult community at the Midwestern Hellmouth.

It had taken a few months to convince the previous storeowner to retire and sell the store to us. Faith and Kennedy were both in favor of intimidation, but we were patient – magic stores on Hellmouths tend to be natural magnets for disasters.

With Sunnydale recently imploded, it had taken only a few months for that mystic energy and its evil groupies to relocate to Cleveland as well. Soon enough, Mr. Dyson, the former proprietor, was only too happy to unload his store on us. Real cheap.

Willow wanted to re-open the story under new ownership with a massive Grand Opening. It was a fine idea in theory and I eagerly volunteered to help out with whatever she needed – I just underestimated how much _cleaning _that would entail.

I look up when the bell above the main door jingles. I'd be lying if I said my throat didn't constrict, hoping it would be Faith walking in. I haven't seen or talked to her in nearly a week – not since she practically kicked me out of her apartment. Usually she's one of the first to show up at the shop to help Willow out, but she's been scarce since our break up. If anyone's noticed her distance, they haven't said so out loud. Or maybe I'm just hyper-aware of her absence for obvious reasons.

When I recognize it's Kennedy strolling through the front door, I drop my eyes back to the floor and continue to clean. Willow descends the stairs from the upper level to great her girlfriend. They exchange pleasantries, and over the scraping of my stiff cleaning bristles, I hear the sounds of them kissing.

It makes me grit my back teeth. It's not that I dislike Kennedy all that much or want to begrudge Willow happiness – Heaven knows she deserves someone to love after everything that happened in Sunnydale. But I'm jealous – jealous of her courage to unapologetically be who she is.

I may have the strength and fortitude to face multiple apocalypses, but I'm stumbling when it comes to my private life. Let's be honest. I've always kind of sucked at relationships, regardless of the gender of my significant other.

I hear the sound of heavy boots walk up behind me and stop. "Lookin' good, Buffy," Kennedy admires.

I prop myself back up on my knees and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. "I hope you're talking about the floor and not my ass," I quip.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Maybe I was referring to both," she smirks.

I crane my head to look at her. "Watch it," I laugh, "you'll make your girlfriend jealous."

Her smirk, if possible, gets even smirkier. "Or yours."

I raise an eyebrow and set my scrubbing brush to the side. "Excuse me?"

She folds her arms across her chest. "Did I stutter?" she challenges playfully.

I stand up, my knees aching from the hard floor. I brush at the front of my jeans. "Hey, Will," I call over to my friend. She's positioned behind the front counter, cleaning the glass display cases. "Your girlfriend has gone loco."

Willow looks up from her cleaning. "Hm? What's that?"

"It's nothing, babe," Kennedy declares, "I think the cleaning fumes are getting to Buffy. You're working her too hard."

I shoot a glare in her direction. She can be _so _annoying. And I thought Dawn was bad.

"Don't mind Ken, Buffy. She's just anxious to win our bet," Willow breezes, not looking up. Her focus remains on the dust-covered glass.

"Bet?" I echo.

Kennedy chuckles and sits down at the wooden table we use for research. She props her dirty boots on the surface that I just painstakingly cleaned only a few minutes earlier. "Stop trying to cheat, babe."

I place my hands on my hips. "What are you guys talking about?" I press, feeling annoyed. I hate when I'm not in the know. It's like when someone makes a joke that goes over my head or when they treat me like my blonde hair is natural. I'm the God Damn Chose One. Show some respect.

"Do you two want to get lunch delivered?" Willow asks, very obviously changing the subject.

"Sound like a great idea," Kennedy grins.

"How about sandwiches?" Willow proposes. "There's a Jewish deli a few blocks away that delivers, I think."

"Oh, no," I protest. "You aren't getting off that easy." These two are definitely up to something and that never seems to go well for me.

Willow raises her eyebrows at me in innocent shock. "Oh? You want something fancier for lunch?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I pout.

"How about Chinese? Or pizza?" Kennedy proposes. She's grinning ear to ear.

I let out a grumpy sound. "Just forget it."

Willow pulls out her laptop and looks over a few online menus. "Should we order something for Faith, too?" she states absently.

"Faith?" Her name kind of squeaks out, and I make a face.

"Yeah, isn't she coming to clean with us?" Kennedy gives me an innocent smile.

I scowl at her. "How should I know?"

My two friends share a knowing look and my scowl deepens. "Seriously," I whine unattractively. "You guys are being really weird and it's annoying."

Kennedy purses her lips. "Why? Is there something you want to tell us, Buffy?"

"Oh, leave her alone," Willow shushes her girlfriend with a huffed laugh. "She'll tell us when she's ready."

"Tell you _what_?!" There's probably cartoon steam coming out of my ears by now.

"What do you want on your sandwich?" Willow asks with a wide grin.

"You two seriously suck," I pout.

The three of us take a lunch break from cleaning. We sit around the research table. All three of us chew our sandwiches in relative silence. It's nice to have reached this level of comfort with my friends again – to not feel the need to make small talk to fill the silence.

But unfortunately, along with the comfortable silence comes the rambling thoughts in my brain. I really should just tell them. Who better to tell, I reason, that I might be gay for Faith than two lesbians?

"I think I might be gay," I announce before the silence drives me mad.

Willow wipes at her mouth with a napkin. "We know, sweetie."

I quirk my eyebrow at her. She must not have heard me over the crunch of her toasted sub. There's _no way_ she could be treating this revelation with such nonchalance.

"Did you _hear_ me?" I pose.

"Yeah. You said you're a rug muncher like us," Kennedy grins. She sets down her sandwich on the table. "We've known for a while."

"Oh my God," I gasp, nearly falling out of my chair. "_What _did you just call me?"

Willow giggles. "Do you prefer Finger Artist?" She wiggles two fingers at me.

"Willow!" I'm sure I blush 1000 shades of red.

Willow's normally very reserved, but she has her moments of perverseness that completely take me by surprise. I suppose it's because I still see her as that shy, unconfident computer geek from high school. I know that's not who she is anymore, just like I'm not that same shallow, Los Angeles transplant either. Usually.

"I've always been a fan of Dykosaurous," Kennedy notes, almost wistfully.

"Oh!" Willow exclaims excitedly. "And Twatasaurus Rex!"

"Lickalatapus!" Kennedy crows, building momentum.

Willow looks like she's really getting into this lesbian-euphemism game, and it's seriously disturbing. "Oooh! Instead of 'The Chosen One,'" she calls out, "you could be 'The Lezzinator.'" She even does the finger quotes and everything.

I stare back and forth at them in disbelief. "H-how did you find out? Do I _look_ gay or something?"

Kennedy rolls her eyes. I really don't like her sometimes. Actually, if we're being honest, she bugs me _most _of the time. "C'mon, Buffy," she scoffs. "We all know what's been going on with you and Faith."

"_Faith?_ Did she say something?" I demand, nearly foaming at the mouth. If she said something to one of them, especially to Kennedy, I'm going to seriously pummel her. She _knew _I wanted to keep things private. It's the whole reason we broke up.

"She didn't need to," Kennedy snickers.

I look over at Willow for clarification. "Sorry, Buff," she shrugs. "But it's not like the two of you are exactly, uh…discreet."

"Nuh uh," I protest. My voice raises a few octaves and decibels. "We were totally sneaky."

Kennedy slaps her knee. "Now _that_ is funny. I can't count how many times I overheard you guys gettin' down and dirty in the basement storage."

My eyes widen. Kennedy's revelation has me totally horrified. People actually _heard_ us? I can never show my face in public again.

Willow shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Stick to Slaying, sweetie."

My frown deepens. "Well, not like it matters now," I scoff. "We're not together anymore."

"What? Why?" Willow asks gently.

"What'd you do?" Kennedy blurts out.

I give Kennedy a sour look. "Why do you automatically assume it was _me_?"

"Well?" She raises an eyebrow at me and waits for my response.

"She wanted to go public with our relationship," I sigh, "but I wasn't ready. So she broke up with me."

"See, I knew you did something stupid," Kennedy snickers smugly.

"Kennedy. Not nice," Willow chides.

"Oh man…you know what we should totally do?" Kennedy looks suddenly very excited, and I'm now very worried.

"Besides eat gallons of ice cream and listen to the Indigo Girls on repeat?" Willow suggests.

Kennedy laughs. "You're cute, Will. But, no. We should totally take Buffy to a gay bar."

"What? No. No." I wave my hands erratically. "That's not my scene at all," I insist. "I couldn't even hold hands with Faith in public."

"I promise it's not going to traumatize you," Kennedy notes. "We could have _so _much fun."

I glance at Willow, hoping for some help. I find none.

"That's actually a really good idea." Willow looks thoughtful. "Consider it Lesbian 101."

"I'll consider it," I concede, hoping we can change the subject. I point at Kennedy. "But if I do this, _you _do not get to come."

"There's _no way _I'm missing this," Kennedy insists. "_You_ at a lesbian bar?" Her dark eyes dance with mirth.

I fold my arms across my chest. "Absolutely not."

* * *

"So what do you think?"

Kennedy, Willow, and I stand just within the front entrance of Crossroads, the local lesbian hangout in downtown Cleveland. It's an understated bar with a small dance floor. Willow tells me it's usually packed with local college students. Tonight, however, is Tuesday, and the bar is relatively empty.

In the back of the bar are two pool tables and a dartboard. Two women who I furtively glance at play at one of the tables and the other remains unoccupied. Near the billiard tables is a jukebox that I muse is probably filled mostly with Ani DiFranco and Indigo Girls albums. Willow gave me a few lesbian lessons in the car ride here.

I know I'm standing uncharacteristically close to Willow right now, but I'm not sure how to act, now that we're actually here.

"It's...not what I thought it would be," I admit slowly, still shyly taking in my surroundings and the bar's other patrons. I'm the Slayer – trained to be fearless – and yet I suddenly can't make eye contact with anyone.

Kennedy rolls her eyes beside me. "Why not? Did you imagine a bar with glitter and rainbows and gay unicorns all over?"

"No, nothing that drastic," I say, shaking my head. "I guess I just didn't expect it to look so much like a regular bar."

A tall black man in drag walks past us. I think he's supposed to be Tina Turner. "Well, _almost _regular," I remark wryly.

Willow chuckles good-naturedly and pats my arm. "C'mon, cutie. Let's get you a drink."

I obediently follow the couple, not wanting to be left to fend for myself. We find three empty barstools next to each other, and I take a seat with Willow in the middle and Kennedy sitting at her other side.

A tall woman in jeans, studded belt, and a white tank is the only bartender standing behind the bar. Her bleached blonde hair is boyishly short and slightly spiked into a faux hawk. Her white tank top offsets two impressive tattoos sleeves covering thinly muscled arms.

"What can I get you, ladies?" she asks pleasantly. I'm surprised by her extremely feminine tone. She places a square white cocktail napkin in front of each of us.

I give Willow what I can only imagine is a panicked look. "What do lesbians drink?"

My friend flashes the bartender an apologetic smile. "Can you give us a second?"

The blonde woman purses her lips. "Sure thing. Take your time."

She walks away and I want to bury my head in a pile of sand. Willow places her hand on top of mine as if to steady my nerves. "Are you gonna be okay?" she murmurs. "We don't have to do this."

I can tell she's starting to second-guess her decision to bring me to this bar.

I suck in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry," I apologize. "I promise to get it together. I won't embarrass you anymore."

I hear Kennedy snort. "You'd better not, Blondie. We're not in California anymore. This is the only lesbian joint in town, and I'd like to be able to come back."

Willow raises a finger at our bartender to indicate we're ready to order. The woman flings a bar towel over her shoulder and walks back in front of us. "Okay. Let's try this again." She looks at me and winks, and I don't feel so nervous anymore."

Her easy demeanor allows me to find my voice once again. "What do you have on tap? I'm buying the first round."

Kennedy lets out a hoot. "Now you're talkin.'"

"…so then…" The bartender leans forward conspiratorially and chuckles. "I find out she actually _works_ for U-Haul!"

Kennedy and Willow share a laugh with the bar employee and I'm left wondering what's so funny. "Oh, that's _hilarious_," Kennedy slaps the bar top.

"I don't get it." All eyes turn to me. I feel like a stranger in a foreign land for the umpteenth time tonight.

"What do lesbians bring on a second date?" Kennedy asks.

I'm sure it's a trick question. I stare at the rest of the beer in the bottom of my pint as if the answer is swimming around in the pale ale.

The bartender answers for me. "A U-Haul."

Willow grins a little wider than usual. "Lesbian Lesson: lesbian relationships have a reputation for moving at the speed of light."

Her words are slightly slurred; I have a feeling the drinks we've been ordering are starting to get to her. I wonder why I'm still feeling okay though – I've never been able to handle my liquor. It must be Faith's influence or something.

It's not the first time I've thought about her tonight. Every time the front door opens, I momentarily freak out that it's going to be her.

Suddenly there's a double shot of something ominously amber near my hand. "What's this?" I ask. "I didn't order this, did I?"

The bartender, whose name I've learned is Leah and that she has her Masters in French Literature – pieces of information I've learned amongst my other Lesbian Lessons tonight – smiles slyly. She picks up a wet glass and begins to dry it with her bar towel. "It would appear you've attracted a fan." She nods in the direction of the pool tables.

I swivel on my barstool to see who ordered me the shot. The bar is dimly lit, but since my not-so-secret admirer is standing near the pool table, the lights over the table give me a clear view.

And _day-um. _Girlfriend is hot.

She's tall, but not too tall, legs that go on for miles encased in black, skinny jeans. A black belt hangs on a narrow waist, small breasts beneath a loose, maroon v-neck that looks touchably soft. Her porcelain skin is like a china doll. You'd never see that skin tone in California unless she was dead. Her wiry arms are peppered with tattoos – not enough to call them sleeves, but enough to see she's spent a good chunk of time under a tattooist's needle. Her hair is long and dark with some of those trendy feather things woven into her wavy locks.

Willow and Kennedy subtly look in the direction of the pool tables. Willow whistles beneath her breath. "Niiiice."

"Eh," Kennedy snorts. "She's not bad."

Willow giggles and nudges her girlfriend. "Aw, baby. You're not jealous that Buffy got a bite before you, are you?"

Kennedy throws back the rest of the beer in the bottom of her glass. "Whatever," she snorts.

I look back at the pool table and the girl smiles at me when our eyes lock. And of course there's dimples – there's always gotta be dimples.

As if reading my thoughts, Willow speaks up. "She's almost Faith-esque."

"Yeah, if Faith was a vampire," Kennedy murmurs.

I hazard another glance in the girl's direction. She's got her hip cocked to one side and a challenging smirk on her face. Definitely not a vampire.

I swivel back to my friends. "What do I do?" I hiss.

I've had men buy me drinks at bars before, but never a girl; at least, not a girl I didn't know, and certainly not in a gay bar.

"Drink up," Kennedy grumbles. Her mood has taken a turn for the worst. I feel sorry for Willow if she has to deal with these childish mood swings all the time.

I toss back the shot, sputtering a bit when the liquid burns down my throat. "Is she still looking over here?" I whisper to Willow. I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I fucking hate shots.

"Even better," Willow whispers back. "She's walking over."

_Oh, no._

I stare hard at my hands, hoping for an exit strategy. Willow and Kennedy were supposed to protect me. I'm not prepared for this. I can sense movement in the shape of a slender woman stop near my elbow.

"Hey," a voice breathes. "I'm Megan."

I snap my eyes up to her smiling, waiting face. She's definitely cute. Not dangerously beautiful, like another brunette who I shouldn't be thinking about right now, but definitely cute. The cuteness, in fact, kind of takes me aback. Someone with so many tattoos shouldn't be able to be labeled as "cute."

"She's Buffy," Willow supplies before I can even take a breath.

"Buffy? Is that a real name?" Her voice isn't mocking – only surprised.

My eyes drop back to my glass of beer. "Yeah, I get that a lot." Damn you, Mom. I love you, but why'd you ever think "Buffy" was a good name? Makes me sound like I'm a sorority girl from the 1950s.

"I'm sorry," the girl quickly apologizes. Her mouth quirks to the side. "I think it's a cute name."

I hate small talk.

"You play pool?" she questions. I'm surprised she's still talking to me. I haven't said a word.

I glance in the direction of the pool tables. Both are currently vacant. Honestly, I've never played the game; the only time I've ever used a pool cue was to stake vampires.

I turn back to the girl. "Not very well," I admit, finally finding my voice.

"That's perfect," she smiles broadly. "Now I can teach you something and afterwards, you won't be able to resist my charms. I read that somewhere." Damn those dimples. It's like there's a direct connection to my clit or something.

She jerks her head toward one of the vacant pool tables. "Can I drag you away from your friends for a quick game?"

I hesitate, but feel Willow's elbow sharply poking me in the small of my back. "Go," she whispers for only my ears. "It'll be good for you."

I take a deep breath and gaze into caramel-colored eyes. "Okay," I concede. "One game."

* * *

Hello, hangover. Nice to see you, too.

I drink greedily from a glass of water. My thirst is insatiable; it's like I slept with cotton balls in my mouth all night, and my body feels like I was run over by a car.

I can't believe I let Willow and Kennedy keep me out so late. I can't even remember how or when I made it back to my apartment. I'm just thankful that I woke up safe in my bed – minus this throbbing in my head.

I finish the rest of the water and refill my glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator. I press the glass against my forehead and close my eyes, just enjoying the momentary reprieve the cold brings. Luckily I don't have any plans for today, so I can go back to bed.

I pad back down the hallway to my bedroom with the intension of sleeping off this hangover. A few rays of sunshine peak through the semi-closed window blinds and fall on the body lying in my bed.

Wait a minute.

The body in my bed?

"Oh shit."

I'm frozen in the doorway. That's definitely a body in my bed. I can just make out the shape beneath my duvet. There's an unruly mane of dark brunette hair obscuring the face of my bedmate.

I swallow hard. Oh God. That looks like _girl hair_. I'm going to _kill _Willow. How could she let me bring that girl from the barhome?

The person (girl?) in my bed stirs, and I nearly drop my glass of water. A strong, yet feminine arm appears from under the blankets. And when I see the one-of-a-kind tattoo, I _do _drop my water glass.

The pint glass falls to the hardwood floor and while it doesn't shatter, the sound of impact echoes loudly in my bedroom. The water puddles and creeps at my bare toes.

The noise jars my bedmate awake, and she sits up abruptly.

"What was that?" she calls out. Her voice reveals her alarm and her face shows a kind of sleepy confusion that comes from being yanked out of a deep sleep.

"I dropped a glass of water," I say in a calm, even tone that surprises my ears.

Faith's sleepy face scrunches up. "Oh. You need help cleaning it up?"

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out.

She sits up a little higher in my bed, and I'm relieved to see she's wearing a tank top. Well, not relieved that I don't get to see her naked, but relieved because that probably means I didn't have blackout sex with her last night.

Faith rubs at her face. "You called me to come over."

"I did?"

She nods and I abandon the drinking glass and water puddle to grab my phone on top of my dresser. I quickly access the recent call list and see that I called her at 3:02am.

Not good.

I turn off my phone and gingerly place it back on my wardrobe. "Did I come on to you?" I grimace.

She shows off those irresistible dimples and that's all the answer I need. I groan and sit down on the edge of the mattress with my back to her. I put my head in my hands. My skull suddenly feels very heavy.

"Did we…" I trail off. I lift my head and turn to look at her.

She raises an amused eyebrow. "Did we have sex?" she finishes for me.

I weakly nod, afraid of the answer. It's not that I'm upset we may have had sex. I'm upset because I don't remember anything from last night. The last thing I remember is bending over a pool table with Megan behind me, helping me with my next shot. I can't stand this feeling of not being in control. It makes me feel vulnerable and uneasy.

She shakes her head. "No," she reveals. "You sure as hell tried to get in my pants, but I could hear how drunk you were. You tend to get a little slurred and add Y's to the end of more words than normal."

This new bit of information miffs me. "If you knew I was drunk, why'd you come over?" I steam.

She smiles at me and my anger is disarmed by the softness behind it. "I wanted to make sure you were safe," she notes in a reasonable tone. "I've never heard you like that and didn't want you to drown in a pile of vomit."

I give her what I can only imagine is a pained face. "That's really gross."

She shrugs. "I know you hate drowning," she teases.

That manages to pull a smile from my otherwise displeased demeanor.

She climbs out of my bed and it's so goddamn graceful, it hurts to look at her. She reminds me of a jungle cat – sleek, rippling muscles with a serine, beautiful danger trapped within her body. The serenity is new – but not the beauty or the danger. She used to burn so bright and so hot I was afraid she's consume us both.

She stretches, showing off her long, limber limbs. "Big plans for the day?" she asks, tilting her head to one side and cracking the bones in her neck. I shake my head.

I honestly don't have plans; I don't have plans most days. I should look into finding a part-time job. It's not about the money, though. Giles discovered the Council had quite the cache of savings put away. I suppose one of the benefits of activating high school-aged girls who die within a few years is never having to dish out retirement benefits.

As much as I've appreciated my break from working in fast food or counseling wayward teenagers, I find that my days are beginning to blur into each other without anything productive to do. I could always work at the Magic Shop, but the last time that happened there was an unfortunate incident with a mummy hand. It would be nice to have a life outside of slaying though.

"How about you?" I ask.

She shrugs, rolling the muscles in her shoulders. "Probably will head over to the Magic Shop," she says. "I owe Willow a couple hours."

I nod a little sadly, knowing I'm the reason she's been avoiding the store and our friends. I'd probably do the same thing if I were her.

"Mind if I use your shower?" she asks. Her tone surprises me – she almost sounds shy or embarrassed by the question.

"Of course," I agree.

"Thanks," she nods. "I hate going back to my place unwashed. Makes me feel like I'm doing the Walk of Shame."

"Without the benefit of having done anything to be ashamed of," I quip without really thinking.

Her smile falters as my words. "Uh…yeah…"

Damn it. I just insinuated that I was ashamed to be with her. Which totally isn't true. I'm just…not ready. Not ready to be public. Not ready for those judgmental eyes staring at us.

She silently pads away in the direction of the shower. When I hear the faucet turn on in the en suite bathroom, I grab my cell phone, and scroll through my electronic address book until I find the number I need. The phone rings twice before she picks up.

"Hello?" the voice asks.

I don't know why people sound so surprised when they answer their phone anymore. Between cell phones and caller ID, it's never a surprise.

"Willow?"

"Yeah?" my friend responds.

"I need a favor," I blurt out without any further pleasantries. "Teach me how to be gay."

"Uh, what?" she squeaks over the phone. "I…I don't think Kennedy would approve."

"Not like _that_," I scowl. I feel myself blush all the way up to the tips of my ears. "I need you to help me win Faith back."

"Oh!" I can hear the sudden recognition in her voice. "Yeah, I can do that," she agrees. "When do you want to start?"

I bite on my lower lip and unconsciously glance in the direction of my bathroom where Faith is currently _naked _in my shower.

"Is _now _too soon?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Brave Enough**

_**Flashback**_

_Suggested Listening: "Sinister Kid" – The Black Keys_

"Honey! I'm home!"

With her arms full of bags, Faith shuts the front door to my apartment with the heel of her boot. It's a pet peeve of mine because she leaves behind black scuffmarks on the paint, but I suppose it's silly for a slayer to think she'll ever get her security deposit back. It's only a matter of time before there's demon blood all over the carpets and vampire dust on the hardwood floors.

"Where you hidin' at, B?" she calls out.

"In the kitchen," I reply.

I hear her heavy boots echo on the hardwood floor until she enters the kitchen.

"Last place I expected to find you," she says with a cheeky grin. She hefts the brown paper bag in her arms to stabilize it.

I wrinkle my nose at her joke. We both know my culinary skills begin and end at making a bowl of cereal. And even then, sometimes I put too much milk in.

"Missed you today," she murmurs. She leans in and presses her warm mouth against my lips in what's almost a chaste kiss. Almost. She's sure to linger long enough that I feel the beginnings of that telltale tightness in the pit of my stomach.

I give her a lopsided grin when she leans back. "What's in the bag?" I ask.

"Supplies," she says vaguely and sets the grocery bag on the countertop. The contents knock together and make a suspicious clinking noise. I can't mistake the mischievous twinkle in those dark chocolate orbs.

I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to explain. Instead of using her words, however, she reaches into her bag of tricks and pulls out a bottle of tequila, followed by two bright limes.

"No way," I state, staring at the stout glass bottle that has unexpectedly manifested.

"Oh, c'mon, B," she grins. "We don't have to patrol tonight. And we already decided we're staying in," she scoffs.

I frown a little at the latter statement. "Fai," I say softly. "You know I can't…"

She holds up her hand to stop me. "I know. And I'm seriously okay with us being, like, a private thing. For now," she adds with a little more heat.

"So tequila, huh?" I pick up the odd-shaped bottle and give it a skeptical once over. I shake it a little and the liquid sloshes around inside. There's no worm on the bottom, but I'm not naïve enough to ask her about it. I'm sure that's just an old wives tale. I remember kids in middle school bragging about stealing their parent's tequila, and how they'd even eaten the worm at the bottom of the bottle. It sounded like the most disgusting thing I'd ever heard, and I'd vowed to stay away from the stuff.

"Won't this get me really sick?" I ask. "I can hardly handle beer, let alone hard liquor."

She shakes her head. "Not if you drink the good stuff. Stick with the high-end tequila, 100% agave, and you won't wake up with a hangover. Trust me, B." She gives me that patented dimpled grin that I can't resist. "You'll totally love it."

I'm still unconvinced.

She grabs a cutting board from one of the lower cabinets and an oversized knife from the butcher block and begins to slice up the limes. Their citrusy fragrance immediately perfumes the air.

While she busies herself with the limes, I uncork the oblong bottle and take a quick whiff of its contents. I can't hold back the sharp cough that erupts from my throat. It feels like my nose hair just singed off, too. "This is really going in our stomachs?" I warily ask. I set the bottle back down on the counter like it's a bomb about to explode.

Faith grins widely. "Uh huh," she confirms. "And _on_ our stomachs, too. It's the only way to drink tequila, baby." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Body shots."

My eyes widen at the imagery. Okay, maybe I'm a little more convinced now.

She stretches and pulls the saltshaker out of the spice rack above the stovetop. I'm not sure where the spices came from, honestly. It's not like I'm ever going to use them. My eyes are immediately drawn to the thin strip of skin that becomes exposed near the bottom hem of her t-shirt.

She turns and looks at me. "I don't suppose you have any shot glasses?"

I shake my head. Shot glasses are kind of like the spice rack. When would I ever have a use for them? But now that I'm dating Faith, maybe I should reconsider what's a "necessity" in my apartment.

She smirks. "Guess we don't really need shot glasses," she muses. "I'll just use your adorable belly button."

Her comments manage to make me blush. She has a unique way with words. They used to make me squirm in discomfort, but now they make me squirm in an entirely different way.

"You think my belly button is cute?" I ask innocently. I pull at the bottom hem of my t-shirt, revealing a few inches of my abdomen. I know I'm teasing her just a little, but I'm sure she doesn't mind.

Without even having to look, I can feel her eyes on me. Her smirk turns into a leer. "You're so fuckin' edible," she growls.

Her hands are on my hips in a flash, her fingers digging in hard, holding me in place. The sharp pain makes my eyes roll a little and my breath quickens. Her mouth is suddenly on my neck, hot and desperate. She rakes her canines over my pulse point and my knees buckle.

"I-I thought we were going to do shots?" I manage to pant out.

She pulls away and her grip loosens. "You're right," she drawls with a calm that I can only envy. Her eyes rake up and down me again. I feel warm beneath her dangerous gaze. "We have all night."

She lets go of me and it takes all my willpower not to pout at the loss of contact. She doesn't stray far, however, only returns to the countertop and begins to line up the lime wedges.

"Tequila lesson #1," she starts. "These," she says, pointing at the salt shaker and the row of lime slices, "are called training wheels. Normally I'm not a fan because I like my tequila straight up, but it's super sexy fun."

I feel a jealous rumble in my stomach. "So…you've done this before?" I pointedly ask. "With other people?"

Her lips part. "Uh."

Uh huh.

I raise an eyebrow and tap my foot expectantly.

I can't help it if I get a little jealous knowing she had a life before me. It's naïve, of course, but it still bothers me. She knows all about my past and my previous relationships, but I'm not privy to most of her past. It's not her fault though – she's offered to let me in. I'm just afraid my fragile confidence wouldn't be able to take it.

Her eyes drop guiltily. "It was before I knew you," she weakly explains.

Her reaction is terribly endearing, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. "Are you gonna lecture about tequila all night, Professor Lehane, or are we actually gonna drink?"

Her lips curl at the edges when she realizes I'm not really mad. "Take off your shirt."

Not needing her to tell me twice, I pull off my t-shirt and stand before her in just my jeans and beige bra. I drop my v-neck on the floor. "And why do I need to be half naked?" I pose.

"Don't wanna get your shirt dirty," she explains. "Obviously."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously," I mimic. I eyeball her upper torso. "Your turn."

She gives me a cheeky grin and immediately strips off her shirt. I audibly swallow, taking in the light olive skin tone, the feminine yet hardened abs, and the way her dark red bra struggles to contain her breasts. It's an admirable feat, but I can't wait to get her out of it.

I take a step closer and run my fingers beneath her bra straps. "Shouldn't you take this off too?" I ask lightly. Her skin is impossibly soft. "Wouldn't want your bra to get dirty, too."

She snickers. "Wow, B. Was that ever a line."

I stick out my lower lip. "Don't tease. I like it when you're naked."

She gently presses her lips to mine. She tastes like cinnamon and cloves. "We have all night," she reminds me. She nibbles on my pouting lower lip.

Before I can get too worked up, she's got her attention back on the booze, salt, and limes. "Okay," she states, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "Back to business. So the phrase of the night is 'Lick It, Suck It, Bite It,' okay?"

"I'm not a complete novice," I sniff indignantly. I pick up the saltshaker. "I've seen it done on TV."

She laughs. "Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to insult your alcohol acumen." She starts noisily rearranging the items on my kitchen counter.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she moves things around.

She wiggles those damn eyebrows again. "Making room."

"For wha-…" The words fall off my tongue when she suddenly hops up on the counter and makes herself comfortable.

She grins up at me from her reclined position. "Just giving you something to suck, baby."

I stare down at her like she's a dinner buffet, and I haven't eaten in months. She's skinny as is, but lying on her back makes her defined stomach even more concave.

"Grab that bottle," she urges me, pulling me from my reverie.

I wordlessly nod and do as I'm told. "Now what?" I ask.

"Pour yourself a drink," she states. She flexes her stomach slightly, urging me on.

I swallow again, suddenly very thirsty. I hover near her belly button and carefully tip the bottle. Since it's so full, the liquid eagerly spills over the top rim and splashes down onto her stomach. My countertop and floors are going to be a mess after tonight.

She's holding her body tense so as to not let any more tequila spill. "Salt," she reminds me.

I nod even though I really could give a damn about the training wheels. I could give a damn about the tequila, too. I just want my mouth on her body.

I lick the inside of my wrist like that woman in _The Cutting Edge _does. I used to love that movie. It's a romantic comedy about figure skating. Go figure.

I sprinkle some salt on my inner wrist. The small crystals cling to my skin, and I lick them off.

"Now suck," Faith instructs me with a grin.

I smirk and dip my head. I snake my tongue out and dip just the tip into the hollow of her belly button. The tequila slightly burns my taste buds, but I continue. I widen my mouth around her shallow belly button and suck the alcohol out. It's thankfully far less than a shot, so I'm able to suck it down without sputtering unattractively.

I straighten and grab a lime wedge from the cutting board. I bite down on the fruit slice and the tangy juice shoots into my mouth, almost completely masking the after burn of the tequila.

I grab the bottle again and give her a grin. "Round Two?"

She nods. "And feel free to, uh, lick other places, too," she stumbles. "You don't have to stick to my belly button." She almost looks embarrassed.

"But your pants are still on," I husk out with an evil twist of my lips. I see her throat working as I bring my wrist to my mouth and dampen the skin to begin the ritual once again.

Feeling a little bolder, I liberally pour the tequila over Faith's stomach. It collects in her belly button again and pools elsewhere like in the slight depressions of her ribcage. I suck the liquid out of her belly button and allow my tongue the freedom to travel elsewhere, tasting the salty liquid on her pliable flesh.

I feel a surge of something as my tongue bathes over her scar. I can't believe we've come so far.

"Okay. My turn," she announces suddenly.

I nod, smacking and licking my lips. While she sits up and eases herself off the countertop, I chew on another lime wedge. I take her place, and the countertop feels a little sticky beneath me. I'm hoping it's from the tequila and not from just being dirty. I'm slightly horrified at the thought. That thought it quickly wiped away, however, when I feel her mouth against my naked collarbone.

"But there's no tequila there yet," I whimper out. It's like she's purposely cheating.

She grabs the saltshaker and sprinkles the area where her tongue was previously present. She leans down and with one, long and slow lick, she rids my skin of salt. "Just mixing things up," she breathes.

"That's not fair," I grumble. "I didn't know that was allowed."

She chuckles and tweaks my nose. "You're really cute when you pout, B," she remarks.

The c-word makes me pout harder. "Why can't I be sexy or beautiful?" I complain. "How come I'm always the 'cute' one?"

She tips the tequila bottle and the light amber liquid spills onto my bare stomach. Her mouth is immediately on my skin, sucking and licking.

"Lime?" I manage to groan out when she sucks hard against my hipbones.

"Told ya," she breathes hot against my sensitive flesh, "never was a fan of training wheels."

Her tongue is on my neck next, and I roll my head to the side, affording her a better purchase. She salts the damp skin and bathes it clean again with her textured tongue.

She pulls the cups of my bra down without unfastening it or even sliding the straps down my shoulders. My breasts heave obscenely over the push-up cups. She pours more tequila, splashing it on my breastplate and naked breasts. Before the liquid has time to settle in pools on my skin, her lips are once again on me. At this point, the tequila is just a vehicle to get to my body.

She sucks a nipple into her mouth and eagerly tongues at the sensitive nerves.

"Something," I groan, arching into her, "tells me you planned this."

She releases my nipple and flashes me a perfect smile. "Maybe."

_**End Flashback**_

"How do you do it, Will?"

My friend stabs her salad with a fork. "What do you mean?"

"Being with Kennedy in public."

After Faith left in the morning, Willow and I made plans to meet up at the Jewish deli a few blocks from the Magic Shop. Somehow my best friend doesn't seem to be sporting the same hangover as me. I'm sure magic is to blame.

I pick at the kettle chips on my plate. My body is still unsteady from the previous night of drinking, and I'm not sure how much of this lunch I'll actually be able to stomach.

Willow lets out a short laugh. "You make it sound like I should be embarrassed of my girlfriend."

"Well…kind of. Nothing against Kennedy," I quickly assert, "but don't people, like, I don't know…_stare _at you?" As if to confirm my words, I look around the sparsely populated deli counter to ascertain if anyone is watching the two of us.

Willow shrugs. "It's no worse than the tormenting Cordelia and her groupies put me through in high school."

I sigh. "I don't know how you put up with that for so long either."

In Los Angeles, I'd been head cheerleader – hardly the social pariah I turned into in Sunnydale. At Hemery, I was top of the cheerleading pyramid and top of the food chain. The worst part of being Called had been the destruction of my social life.

Willow gives me a soft smile. "It got better when you moved to town. Helping you out with slayer stuff made all that bullying seem less important," she notes wistfully. "It was easier to get over being teased about a sweater when we were fighting demons after school."

I nod my understanding and look down at my chicken wrap, trying to map out my plan of attack. Don't judge. I like plans.

"So I hope I'm not being too nosy, but…" Willow trails off.

I look up to appraise Willow's face. She looks suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "Go on..." I urge.

"You and Faith?"

I drop my gaze. "You and Ken made it sound like you'd known all along," I grumble.

"Doesn't mean it was any less unexpected," she notes.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Unexpected because of it's _me _or because it was me with _Faith_?" I know both are pretty unexpected, but I'm curious to know which one was the least expected.

"Well I've always known Faith went for anything with a pulse. And you never seemed to care about the pulse thing," she jokes.

"Watch it." I try to give her a stern look, but it's not working.

"I just never got that _lesbian _vibe from you," Willow notes. "And I know I haven't been a practicing gay for that long, but my gaydar's usually pretty good. And Kennedy's is, like, impeccable."

I bite into my wrap and give her a shrug. "I don't think I'm exactly a lesbian," I counter around my mouthful of chicken, tortilla, and lettuce.

"So just gay for Faith?" Willow presses.

I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand. Willow's being kind of passive aggressively pushy. "Are labels that important?" I question.

"I guess not," she admits. "I'm just, you know, trying to wrap my head around it."

"That makes two of us." I sigh and set my wrap back down on the plate.

"So explain to me what the problem is," Willow tries again. "Why can't you go out with Faith? Seems to me if you both got over that whole I-want-to-stab-you-to-death obstacle, things should be smooth sailing from now on."

I know she's right. If we were able to admit our feelings for one another after such an anarchic, shared history, this should be nothing. But it's not nothing. It's like a huge cloud of anxiety that constantly hovers over me.

"I'm just not…" I suck in a sharp breath, "…brave enough."

Willow nearly chokes on her iced tea. "You've got to be kidding me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer isn't _brave_?"

My lips twist into a frown. "You know what I mean, Wills. Like…" My brain flounders about, trying to clarify what I mean. Words have never been my forte. "I don't know," I huff. "I'm good with End of the World stuff. But I'm not really good at Real World, Every Day stuff. It's stupid, I know," I sourly admit, "but I'm afraid of people judging me."

My best friend looks momentarily thoughtful as my muddled confession marinates. "Well…" she starts slowly, "if you're not ready to go on a real date with Faith in the Straight World, why not invite her to the Gay World?"

"There's not really a place called Gay World, is there?" I wish there was a book to teach me all these gay things. But then again, I don't like to read. "Like the Rainbow version of Disney World?"

Willow snorts and pushes around the remaining lettuce on her plate with her fork. "The Happiest Place on Earth is pretty queer, Buff. All that choreographed singing and dancing?"

I nod. She's kind of right. All those Prince Charmings are probably actually Queens.

"Why not take Faith to Crossroads?" Willow proposes. "Friday nights they actually have a decent DJ, and you both love to dance," she points out. "You two could have some fun without worrying about people judging you," she reasons with an encouraging smile. "It'd be like your own little gay bubble."

"That's actually a really good idea," I note with a thoughtful nod. I knew I could count on Willow. She's so smart.

"Really?" she practically squeals. "You'll ask her?"

Her reaction pulls a chuckle from my lips. "Shouldn't _I _be the one excited about this?"

Willow grins. "Hey, I just want someone to double date with." She pushes my phone across the table until it's near my elbow. "Call her now."

I pick up the phone and stick my tongue out at her. "You're awfully bossy today," I laugh.

Her smile widens. "Just make the call, Summers."

I scroll through my address book and find her number. I would have it memorized by now if cell phones didn't make memorization pointless. I hit the call button and wait.

The phone clicks after three rings.

"Faith?" I breathe into the phone before she has the chance to speak.

"Yeah?"

"It's me," I unnecessarily state.

"I know, B." I hear her lightly chuckle. "Your number's programmed into my phone."

"Oh. Right." I rub at my forehead.

"What's up?" she lazily drawls, saving me from my eternal awkwardness. "Baddies to slay? Apocalypses to divert?"

"No. Nothing so serious. I'm calling 'cause I was wondering if, uh…" I glance over at Willow, and she gives me two thumbs up, urging me on. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me tonight?"

There's a pregnant pause. "On patrol?" she asks carefully.

"No...like…like maybe a _date_? In _public_ this time?" My voice seems to crack on the final syllables, and I hold my breath, waiting for Faith's response.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: **

_Suggested Listening: Dragonette – "I Get Around"_

I fiddle nervously with my pint of pale ale, rolling the glass around in my hands. I glance away from my beer to check the clock on my cell phone again. Faith's late.

I push out a short sigh and glance wistfully towards the door. I'm sure it blindsided her when I'd called, asking not only to go on a proper date, but one to a _lesbian bar. _I'm just hopeful that her being late, or maybe even standing me up, isn't some form of petty payback.

Before I can really start to worry myself sick, however, the front door opens and a beautiful brunette strides in from the Cleveland night. She's wearing dark skinny jeans tucked into feminine, but edgy black leather boots. Her leather jacket is fitted, slightly cinched at the waist, and it accentuates those curves that I know so well.

"Sorry I'm late," she breathes as she walks up next to me. She had no trouble finding me in the dimly-lit bar. "Ran into a vamp on the way here," she explains. My eyes widen in alarm, but she immediately calms my slayer instincts. "It was just one," she assures me. "Wasn't a big deal."

She shrugs out of her leather jacket to reveal miles and miles of arm porn. When she sets her jacket on the stool next to me, I can't help but stare at the way her triceps twitch and bulge. I know I'm gawking at the way her upper arms look in her dark blue tank top, but it shouldn't be a surprise to her. She knows she's hot.

She looks around the club briefly. "Nice," she chuckles, really appraising the club for the first time. "Didn't think this was your style though."

"I'm not a regular," I admit with a nervous squeak. I look down at the pint glass still cupped between my hands. "I just thought you might like it." I look back up and see her dimpled smile aimed in my direction.

"You feel like dancing?" she grins, nodding her head towards the slightly crowded dance floor.

_Yes, but I only want to dance with you_. I bite the tip of my tongue and nod.

"Awesome. Let me get a quick beer, and then we can hit up the floor and show these girls how it's really done." She catches the eye of one of the bartenders who walks over to take Faith's order.

"I'll have whatever she's having," Faith states in a voice loud enough to be heard over the Top 40 music blasting from the stacked speakers on the club floor.

The bartender looks at me and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Leave it to Faith to assume a busy bartender would memorize my drink of choice. She does things like that – just because _she's_ blindingly attractive, she assumes that the rest of us mere mortals receive the same kind of special attention.

"Uh, it's the Great Lakes pale ale," I state.

The woman – not the same bartender from the previous evening – nods curtly and walks down the length of the bar where the draft tappers are located.

"Want to sit down?" I ask Faith. Her jacket is still on the seat beside me, but she's just hovering near my elbow.

"Why did you ask me out?" she ignores my question with one of her own.

I clear my throat awkwardly. Leave it to Faith to notice the giant elephant in the room. "I, uh…"

"We're good together, B. Like _really _good together," she states with feeling. "But I can't have you keep jerking my chain around like this."

I chew on the corner of my lower lip, planning what I'm going to say. She's right. We _are _good together. I've just been too much of a coward to admit it. But before I'm able to give her some feeble apology or reassurance that it won't happen again (because I can't make that promise), her phone rings.

She looks at the screen and her brow furrows. "Sorry," she apologies. "Let me see what she needs."

I nod, letting her know it's fine and I return to my beer.

She brings the phone to her ear. "This had better be good," she growls. "You know I'm on…" she trails off, and I can just barely hear that whoever's on the other line has interrupted her.

"Shit," she curses at whatever this person has told her. "Can't you just…"

She's interrupted again and I watch her features go through a myriad of emotions. Annoyance. Anger. Disappointment. Resolve.

"Fine," she snarls. "Give me 5 minutes. And don't, I repeat _don't_, do anything until I get there." She hastily hangs up without saying goodbye.

I raise my eyebrow expectantly, waiting to hear what was so important.

"That was Kennedy," she explains. She shoves her phone into her back pocket. "Said she needs some backup with a nest of vamps one of the new girls stumbled upon during routine patrol."

"I'll come with," I offer. I go to motion to the bartender that I'm ready to close my tab.

"Not necessary," Faith waves me off. "It's your night off. Plus, you've already been drinking," she points out. "Let the noobs and me take care of this one."

I raise an eyebrow at her in challenge. "Did you ask Kennedy to call you during our date with an 'emergency' so you had a polite way of ditching me?"

Instead of answering my question with words, she pulls me in for a crushing kiss that catches me by surprise. Her tongue finds it way between my barely parted lips and she strokes the strong muscle along the front of my teeth. When she abruptly pulls back, she's left me breathless and wanting more.

She leers and gives me one of those slow, head to toe, lazy gazes that instantly makes my skin flush. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she promises with a winning smile. "Stick to beer, okay?" she pleads.

I nod and take another deep pull from my beer, trying to calm myself. I'm amazed at how smooth it tastes. Normally I'm not a fan of such hoppy beer.

"I'm serious, B." Her eyes darken a bit as she scans around the club. I can't read her thoughts, but I can tell she doesn't feel comfortable leaving me here by myself – which begs the question, _why won't she let me come along_? "I don't want anyone takin' advantage of ya."

I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth. I kiss the back of her hand and grin at her over the feminine knuckles. "You're sweet, Fai. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm a big girl. I can handle this place on my own."

"Promise?"

I hold my hand up in the air as if taking an oath, and give her a lop-sided grin. "Scouts honor."

With one more hesitating glance, she finally turns and leaves. I watch her make her way toward the front of the club and exit out into the Cleveland night.

When the door closes behind her attractive form, I sigh and return to my half-empty glass. I take a moment to look around the club. It's gotten significantly busier since I arrived. The thought should freak me out to be on my own in a gay bar, but the night is young, my beer is delicious, and the DJ has been playing some really good music so far. Plus, Faith has assured me she'll be back soon enough so we can continue our date.

And I'm sure I would have been able to handle this place on my own until she got back… if only I had stuck to beer.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, I open my eyes and am greeted with complete darkness. I'm not alarmed, however, because I immediately sense I'm back in my bedroom. The blackout drapes were one of the first purchases I made when I rented this apartment. When you keep the late hours of a slayer, the need to shut out the early morning sun is pretty important.

I stiffly sit up in bed, only to be met with a sharp stabbing pain in my temples. "Fuck," I groan, pressing my fingers against the throbbing headache.

My low curse causes the person in bed beside me to mumble incoherently and shift slightly. I'm momentarily startled, but once I see the chaotic mess of dark locks on the pillowcase, the tightness in my chest fades away.

I pull myself from bed and stumble to the adjacent bathroom, trying my best to be quiet and not trip over the scattered clothes that litter my bedroom floor.

When I reach the bathroom, I rummage around the medicine cabinet for the Excedrin I could have sworn I'd purchased a few weeks ago. I thankfully find the white and green bottle after a little more searching and pop two pills into my mouth. I turn the bathroom faucet on, lean over, and with my hands, bring cool water to my mouth.

The previous night is a blur. I remember Faith leaving early in the night to take care of a nest of vamps and then…nothing.

I look up at my bleary reflection and make a face at what I see. I apparently didn't have the presence of mind to take off my makeup last night. My mascara is smeared and my eyeliner smudged to form dark circles beneath my eyes. I peer closer and tug at my skin. At least those had better be make-up circles and not just the natural, sickly pallor of my skin. Fuck. I hate getting old.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, hoping to scrape some of the morning sludge off. I remember that Willow asked me to come over to help with a few last minute details before the Magic Shop is ready for it's Grand Re-Opening. I'm sure she wants to drill me with details from the previous night, but with this fogbank clouding my memory, I doubt I'll be able to give her much.

I pad back to my darkened bedroom, feeling marginally better from the quick gulp of water and the quick-acting medicine. I make a mental note to hydrate better on nights out to the bar.

I notice that Faith still hasn't moved. There's _no way_ I'm letting her sleep the morning away if I've got to go help Willow. "Wake up, Sunshine," I say, playfully slapping her duvet-covered backside. "We've got places to be today."

She makes another unintelligible noise and ignores my order to vacate my bed.

"C'mon," I urge. I walk to the windows and yank my blackout shades wide open, letting the Cleveland sunshine pore into the bedroom. "Time to get moving," I chirp pleasantly. "Willow's expecting us in like half an hour."

"Who's Willow? And why is she expecting us?"

The vaguely familiar voice, that I'm suddenly aware _doesn't_ belong to Faith, causes me to freeze.

The blankets slip away to reveal a bleary-eyed girl with mussed dark tresses. I know her from someplace. It's like a ghost of a memory. I suddenly place the girl when I see her tattooed, nearly-sleeved arms.

Megan.

She gingerly sits up in bed and presses the palm of her hand into her forehead. "God," she groans and winces. "Are you always this chipper in the morning?"

I open and close my mouth like a feeding fish. "Uh…Megan. Hi. Um, morning."

"Morning," she grumbles, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

My brain lurches into overdrive, trying to piece together the hazy memories from the previous night out. I remember someone buying me a shot of something gross. And then there was dancing. Lots of dancing with lots of faceless girls. Not that they didn't have faces, I just can't quite remember them right now. And then came another shot that turned into more than a few. All of that I can somewhat remember. But two glaring and important holes remain. Namely, _why is Megan in my bed, and what the hell happened to Faith?_

I clear my throat awkwardly. "This may be an odd question, but did you see me with another girl at Crossroads?"

"I saw you with a lot of girls, Buffy," she smiles softly. She tosses her head around as if rattling away the cobwebs of her own hangover. "I had no idea I was dealing with such a lothario."

"You would have noticed this one," I say, shaking my head. "Dimples, dark hair, penchant for leather…"

Megan flips me a cocky smile and pulls back the sheets a little more to reveal more of her lithe figure. She wears only black, lacy undergarments that make her pale skin look even more powder white. "You mean the girl in your bed?"

I feel the blush creep up on my cheeks, and I avert my gaze from her half-naked form. "No…no. She's different. Think you, but with less tattoos, olive skin-tone, and curves for miles."

"Sounds hot." Megan's easy smile scrunches into a frown. She pulls her legs up and sits cross-legged. "Why do you ask?"

Oh God. How to explain this one. "We were at the club together earlier in the night, but she had to leave," I state vaguely. "She's, uh, my friend and I was just wondered what happened to her. She'd said she was coming right back."

I can see something that resembles regret and guilt mirror in Megan's eyes. "Don't remember much from last night, huh?"

I sigh. I really don't want blacked-out-drunk to become a habit. Stupid alcohol. "I'm sorry. No."

"Well firstly, we didn't _do _anything," she reassures me. "I mean, hell yeah I want to have a go with you, but not when you're blasted. Call me old fashioned," she grins.

"That's sweet of you," I say with an embarrassed smile.

"I have an idea," she proposes. "Let me make you breakfast, and I can catch you up." She smiles warmly and I nearly forget my discomfort. "I make a mean frittata."

I worry my bottom lip. "That's really nice of you to offer, but it's really not necessary."

She raises a painted eyebrow. I never noticed in the bar that she doesn't actually have eyebrows – they're just make-up. Weird. "Not necessary because you're not hungry, or not necessary because this was just an almost one-night stand?"

I've got to hand it to the girl. She doesn't mess around. It's kind of refreshing actually. And because of her directness, I know I owe it to her to be explicit as well.

"Megan, you seem like a really nice girl…"

She holds up her hands. "Woah. Let me stop you right there." She climbs out of my bed and quickly gathers a few discarded pieces of clothing from the floor.

"Really?" I ask, blinking in disbelief. "Just like that?"

She grunts, pulling on her skinny jeans. "I get it, Buffy," she states as she hops around and slides into her painted-on pants. "I don't need an elaborate speech. Last night was fun. But I get it – that's all it was."

It feels like a giant weight has lifted from my shoulders, but I'm still skeptical. "You're being surprisingly cool about this." I inspect her face, looking for some kind of hidden emotion. "I thought lesbians came with a U-Haul."

She picks her jacket off the ground and gives me a quick peck on the cheek as she makes for the bedroom door. "Well lucky for you," she chuckles, leaving my bedroom, "I'm not a lesbian."

I hear the floorboards creak as she makes her way down the long hallway, followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking and the front door opening. "See you around, Buffy," she calls back in my direction. The apartment door closes again, and I'm suddenly alone as if the previous night had never happened.

But it did. And I'm sure there are going to be consequences for my late night actions.

Oh, goodie.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Missed Connection**

45 missed calls.

13 new voice mails.

21 unread text messages.

All from the same number. Faith's.

I sit at the small kitchenette table with a cup of coffee in one hand and my cell phone in the other. Jesus. How out of it, was I? I vow in that moment to never drink again.

I listen to the voice mails and read through the text messages and notice a pattern. First, the messages are apologetic about running out on me before our date could even really start. Then they turn sarcastic and distracted as she's clearly trying to deal with this mess the newer girls couldn't handle on their own.

They become eager soon after, excited to be on her way back, again apologetic for having to leave in the first place and for it taking longer than usual. She supposes it's too loud in the club for me to hear my phone, but there's a ting of worry in her tone as to why I haven't responded to her earlier messages.

And then the tone changes drastically. Worry. She's at the club, but she can't find me. This continues for a while. I can tell it's genuine worry and a mixture of guilt about leaving me behind. She admits that she hadn't invited me to come along because she'd wanted to prove that she could put out a fire without me.

The worry then turns to frustration and anger. She can't find me in the club, so she thinks I've left. Maybe I left with another girl. Maybe I wasn't serious about wanting to give them a second chance. The venom in her voice and even the anger in the text messages themselves is palpable.

And finally the messages turn to resignation. She's given up trying to find me, trying to get a hold of me. The last voice mail of the night came in around 4am. She asks that I at least text message her so she knows I'm not dead in some ditch.

Unthinking, I immediately delete all the messages as if erasing them will make the night itself go away.

I fiddle with the buttons on my phone anxiously. Should I call her? Should I text? I look at the digital clock on the microwave. Willow's expecting me soon. I sigh at the circumstances. If I call, I'll probably get sucked into a conversation with Faith that I can't just walk away from, and I'll be letting Willow down. I nod, resolved. Even though it's the cowardly thing to do, I'll text.

I type out my message, deleting and re-writing it a few times before I settle on something uninspired: "Sorry about last night," it reads. "I'm fine. I'll call you later."

I put my phone on silent so I won't be distracted by it and slip it into my bag. I pour the rest of my coffee into a travel mug and I'm out the door with just a few minutes to spare before Willow is expecting me.

I know I can't ignore this thing forever, but another hour won't kill me.

* * *

The front door to the Magic Shop slams open, nearly ripping off the tiny bell affixed to the top of the doorframe. The door bangs loudly against the opposite wall. We all look up from our respective tasks to see Faith looming in the doorway.

"What happened to you last night?" Faith steams, her eyes trained on me.

"Jesus, Faith," Kennedy scowls. "Easy on the merchandise."

Faith's gaze snaps away from me and falls on the younger slayer. "Don't even get me started on you," she growls. She storms into the store and shakes a finger in Kennedy's direction. "If you could have handled your shit last night, this wouldn't have happened."

I can literally see Kennedy puff up her chest like she's a damn rooster. "So _sorry _to have interrupted your little date," she sneers. "If I had known getting into Buffy's panties was more important to you than your Sacred Calling, I wouldn't have bothered calling you."

Willow and I seem to share the same thought because we're both suddenly between the other two, futilely trying to calm them down. Kennedy's dark eyes flash with anger and I'm sure Faith's are just as fiery. I've been on the receiving end of that rage-filled glare more times than I'd like to remember.

"Ken, hun," I hear Willow murmur. "That was uncalled for."

I've got my hands wrapped around Faith's waist, holding her back from physically lashing out. Her entire body is coiled and tense like a snake waiting to bounce. "Faith," I state low for only her to hear. "You're mad at _me. _Don't take it out on Kennedy."

Faith seems to snap out of it, as if suddenly remember why she came to the Magic Shop in the first place. She turns to me with eyes full of regret. "Where were you last night?" she asks in a far more controlled voice. "When I got back to the club, you were gone."

Across the room, Willow's pulling on Kennedy's arm. "Sweetie," she says in mumbled tones, "Let's go check out the basement inventory."

"Speak for yourself," Kennedy huffs sourly. "I'm fine where I am."

Willow mutters something under her breath that even my slayer hearing can't pick up, but Kennedy's slight frown slides into a full-out pout. "Fine!" she says, standing up dramatically with a small huff. "Let's go."

"Why do you always threaten to turn me into a toad?" she sourly complains as they tromp down the stairs to the basement.

"Stop acting like one and I wouldn't have to threaten," Willow shoots back.

The door that leads to the basement storage room noisily closes behind them, leaving Faith and me alone on the first floor.

I stare at the closed door that leads to the basement. "How those two co-exist is beyond me," I observe shakily.

"Where _were _you?"

I grimace. And so the interrogation begins. "Don't be angry with me," I start in a pleading voice. I know this is going to take some groveling.

"You _disappeared_, Buffy!" Faith growls. "I was _worried _about you. You were fine when I left you at the club, and when I came back, you were gone."

I wince at her use of my full name. She only does that when she's really exasperated and frustrated with me. "Yeah," I snort stubbornly. "You _left _me."

"Not by choice," she throws back. "It was slayer stuff. You of all people should be able to understand."

"But why did it have to be _you _and _just you _to help Kennedy and the other girls?" I point out. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Faith casts her gaze away from my challenging stare. "I told you in my messages," she mumbles. "I just wanted to show you I could handle it on my own."

"But we're a _team_, Faith. Especially if we're going to be in a _relationship_, we have to count on each other."

"That still doesn't change the fact that you were gone when I came back," she sourly huffs.

"I got drunk. And I left. What's the big deal?" I ask, exasperated.

"We live in a world where the things that live under the bed are real," she pragmatically points out. "How could I not have been worried something had happened to you?"

"I'm a big girl," I grumble.

"Plus you ditched me. We were supposed to be on a _date_."

"Why can't we just start over?"

"I already gave you a second chance, and you blew it," she bellows angrily.

"Then why can't we start over all over again, _again_?"

"Give me one good reason why I should."

Despite my penchant for dramatic, grandiose speeches, my words fail me. It shouldn't surprise me, though. When I'm around her, I always seem to get a little tongue-tied.

"Fine," she snaps. "But this time, _I _get to plan the date."

Without waiting for me to agree to her terms, she's spinning on her heels and storming out the front door, leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.

I remain standing in the empty store for a moment, trying to process the events of the past few minutes. I still have no idea if I'm forgiven or if I'm the one who's supposed to give Faith forgiveness. If I have more time to think about it, I'm sure I'll realize that we both kind of messed up. But one thing I _do_ know. A smile spreads across my face as the realization hits me. We've got another second chance.

* * *

_Suggested Listening: Angus and Julia Stone – "Silver Coin"_

The night is black and still. Overhead, a few of the brighter stars blink back at me, still visible despite the haze

I absently pick up a carefully sliced strawberry and pop it into my mouth.

It shouldn't be romantic. But it is. In fact, it might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. That totally doesn't say much for my dating life.

"It's so easy with you. I never thought I'd _ever_ say that and have it be true. The way we started out…" I chuckle at the memories. "It's the last thing I expected."

Faith reaches across the blanket and takes my hand in hers. "It could be like this all the time, you know. All you have to do is say the word."

I sigh and push the hair out of my face with my free hand. "I _want _to be with you," I tell her. It's the truth. She's the best thing to happen to me since the Hellmouth imploded.

"You just don't know if you want other people to know about it," she notes slowly.

I frown at her words. "I told Willow and Kennedy about us," I point out.

"And I appreciate the start, I do," Faith notes. "But I want more." I feel her squeeze my hand for emphasis. "I _deserve _more."

When she eventually lets go of my hand, I wring both hands on my lap. "What do you want me to do?" I ask quietly, unable to meet her gaze. "What's going to be enough?"

"Faith?"

"Hmmm?" she murmurs sleepily.

I have to tell her, even though I know it's going to smash this perfect moment into tiny shards.

I take a deep breath. "Last night, when I got drunk and disappeared, I went home with someone. Or, I guess, she came home with me."

I can't deny that Faith's olive skin tone suddenly looks ashen. She opens her eyes and gives me a wounded look like I've just sucker punched her. She slowly sits up, and it hurts me to know that I've hurt her. She subtly leans away from me. The bed of the truck isn't that big, but it feels like we're sitting miles away.

She tries her throat, but the words get stuck.

"N-n-nothing happened," I stammer out, unnerved by her silence. At least I don't _think _anything happened. Megan seemed pretty convincing that we hadn't done anything, but that doesn't mean it's true. I don't even know the girl. Yes, I'm definitely never drinking ever again. "But I just wanted to be honest with you," I insist. "I don't want us to have any secrets."

She nods glumly, but she won't look at me.

I let out a tired sigh and stare down at my hands. I've messed it up again.

"I should take you home," she says in a dull voice.

"Please don't." I grab onto her hands like they're my life-line. "I mean, you can take me home if you want to," I clarify, "but don't shut me out. Don't punish me."

She lets out a shaky breath. "Kinda thought you were the one punishing_ me_, B. I'm not the one…" She shakes her head slowly. "I don't want anyone else touching you," she says in a slightly louder, more assertive tone. "The thought of it...it seriously makes me sick to my stomach." She looks up at me as if she's afraid she's said too much or that her territorial-ness might freak me out.

I reach out and gently brush a few stray hairs out of her face, carefully tucking them behind her ear. "And I only want to be with you," I murmur to her, hoping that my words are enough to reassure her. "I only want to be touched by you." I brush my lips over hers. "Still wanna take me home?" I ask.

"If I did, I might expect an invite," she murmurs back.

She bites down on my lower lip, and I can't help the groan that slips out my mouth. I feel her smile against me, knowing she's always had the upper hand when it comes to being intimate. I'm just trying to keep up.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Do Over**

I lean closer to the full-length mirror until my nose is nearly touching the reflective pane.

"I don't think I've ever seen you care so much about your appearance," Willow's voice observes from behind me. "Even when you were with Angel." She's sitting on the end of my bed, lightly tossing Mr. Gordo 2.0 up and down. "This is really important to you, huh?"

"Of course it is," I say distractedly as I apply some blush to my cheekbones. I smile exaggeratedly and sweep the brush along the contours. "It's _Faith_."

"My point exactly," Willow remarks. "It's Faith."

Her words bring a frown to my face. "Do you still really not like her?" I question. "After all this time?"

Willow's eyes fall to her lap and she picks at my comforter. "No, I like her just fine."

"Then why the long face?" I ask, snapping shut my blush compact. I pull out my eye-shadow case from my makeup bag.

Willow makes a grumbling noise from behind me. "I don't think she likes _me_."

I spin away from the mirror to face my best friend. "That's ridiculous, Will!" I exclaim. "Of course she likes you."

My friend shrugs and tosses Mr. Gordo back near my headboard. "I haven't really given her a reason to like me," she notes wistfully. "I was pretty horrible to her in high school."

I quirk an eyebrow. "So was I, Will. And she seems to like me just fine now."

Willow snickers. "Yeah, but that's because she's always been in love with you."

Willow's words cause me to bristle, and I momentarily fumble with my eye-shadow brush. Faith and I never really got to that point in our relationship where we exchanged the L-word.

"Uhm…right." I clear my throat uncomfortably and turn back to the mirror. I fish my mascara out of the makeup bag and start to carefully apply it to my upper lashes. "We, uh, we really haven't had any time to unwind since moving here," I point out. "First with getting settled in a new city, then finding all the newly called slayers and placing them in slayer cells, and now with the Magic Shop re-opening. It's been busy, Will. Give it some time, and I'm sure you guys will be best friends in no time."

"I'd just settle for being friends," Willow remarks, "especially if you two are really serious."

"We should all hang out," I suggest, snapping the mascara wand back into its tube. "You, me, Faith, and _Kennedy_," I say, even though the thought of hanging out with Willow's girlfriend on purpose pains me.

"Like a double date?" A smile breaks over Willow's face. "That would be _awesome_!"

"Just not to Crossroads," I insist. "After tonight, I'm pretty sure I'm done with that place."

"Why _are _you two going back there?" Willow questions.

I sigh deeply and put the mascara tube back into my makeup bag. "It's the do-over Faith wanted," I reveal. "I royally messed up the first time we tried to have a date there, so I guess I have to prove to her that I can handle myself in a room full of alcohol and lesbians."

"Sounds like your most difficult challenge yet, Slayer," Willow lightly teases. "Are you up for it?"

I shake my head at my friend's reflection and resume putting on the finishing touches to my eye makeup. "You're really a jerk sometimes," I mumble.

* * *

The hallway leading to Faith's apartment smells like Indian food. The lighting isn't the best either, kind of an unattractive halogen glow, but it's not like there's anything I really want to see better in the hallway. Faith and I earn the same amount of money from the new Council as a stipend, so the fact that she insists on living in such a dump on the east side is a mystery to me. I've never brought it up though, not wanting to insult or embarrass her. I mean, who am I to judge how people choose to live?

I actually haven't been to her apartment too many times. For as long as we'd been together, I always preferred my own apartment and wanted to sleep in my own bed instead of coming back here. Faith never complained about it, but the thought now makes me realize just what a horribly selfish girlfriend I've been. I straighten my shoulders as I stand outside of Faith's rented one-bedroom, resolved. I'm going to fix it this time.

I knock and wait a few moments before the door is abruptly thrown open. The scowl on Faith's face is quickly replaced with a look of surprise.

"You're early," she says in an emotionless voice that would normally make me angry.

I'm not letting her sour mood ruin our night before it even begins, however. "I couldn't wait to see you," I tell her truthfully. I'm really not _that _early; maybe just half an hour. But I suppose with my typical lack of punctuality, me even showing up on time should be a surprise.

I pull the small bouquet of wild flowers from behind my back and grin.

Her dark eyes visibly widen. "What. Are. Those?"

I push past her, out of the hallway, and into her apartment. "They're flowers," I chirp.

She rolls her eyes and closes the front door. "Well, duh," she says. "But _why_?"

I rummage around the galley kitchen, looking for a vase. When I come up empty handed, I'm not surprised. As minimalist as Faith is, there's no reason for her to have a one. Instead, I pull an empty beer bottle from her recycling bin and fill it with water from the tap.

"Do I need an excuse to bring you flowers?" I ask innocent as I trim the flower stems and then carefully arrange the small bouquet in the long-necked bottle.

Faith stands next to me, inspecting my work. "I'm not exactly a flower kind of girl," she grunts uncomfortable. The floor squeaks as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Then what kind of girl _are_ you?" I ask.

She shrugs, nonplussed.

I'm not about to deal with her all night if I can't shake her from this mood. I grab onto her wrist as she starts to turn away. "Hey, are you okay?" I gently ask.

She nods curtly. "Five by five."

Her response makes me freeze. I haven't heard _that _from herin a very long time.

She seems to sense my unease with her word choice, so she wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me close. She looks nervous, and it makes me feel a little better to see her confidence slightly shaken. At least we're in this thing together.

"I'm fine," she insists. "I just…really want this night to go well, you know? I kinda feel like this is the Universe giving us one final chance."

I nod and lean in until our foreheads are just barely touching. I can't deny how amazing it feels to be this close to her. It's like my nerve endings are hyper aware of everything surrounding us, and yet, at the same time, I'm completely consumed by her.

"You sure you want to go out tonight?" I ask. I reach up and gently brush a strand of hair out of her face. "We could always stay in." My thumb strokes along her right cheekbone.

She swallows hard, her nostrils flare, and the vivid image of her taking me, hard, against the kitchen counter suddenly flutters through my mind. I shudder and close my eyes at the intensity. I wonder if it'll always be like this between us.

Her voice pulls at me. "We should get going before you make me change my mind," she rasps.

I can't help my smirk. I could make this difficult for her, harder for her to leave this place instead of us tumbling straight into her bed, but I won't. So instead of lingering any longer, I take her hand and pull her toward the front door.

"Eager much?" she teases.

"C'mon, Lehane," I chuckle. "Let's get this do-over over with."

* * *

I stare up at the non-descript neon sign that announces the name of the club. Crossroads. Faith's hand is light on my waist, anchoring me when I'm more than ready to take flight. "You ready for this, Slayer?"

I turn and give her a weak smile. "Let's do it."

When we walk inside the bar, and I pause long enough to slip out of my jacket, my ears are filled with a resounding cheer. To my chagrin, the bar patrons are _cheering_ my name.

I feel my face flush red. Faith slips her hand into mine and gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze. Her words, however, are anything but reassuring. She leans close, her lips brushing against my ear. "Looks like you've got a fan club," she says suspiciously.

I look into those unreadable, dark eyes. "We don't have to stay," I insist.

A strange smile creeps onto her lips. "Nuh uh, Princess. You said I'd get my do-over and that's exactly what I'm getting tonight."

"But we could go _someplace else_ for your do-over," I point out. I mentally cringe at the whine in my tone.

"Nope," she clips. "It has to be here." Her grip tightens on my hand, and she gently leads me away from the door in the direction of the bar. "Don't worry, B," she cajoles with a playful wink. "I'll protect you from the lesbians tonight."

When we stop in front of the bar, I recognize Leah, the bartender who was working the first night I came out with Willow and Kennedy. I'm surprised when she seems to recognize me as well.

"Well, well," she greets with a laugh on her lips. "Hi, Buffy. I hear I missed out on a wild time the other night."

I'm sure I blanch. In fact, I feel like I might fall dead in my spot. "What exactly _happened_ that night?" I hiss at her under my breath.

Her eyes go comically wide. "You don't remember?"

I shrug sheepishly. "I've got a small frame, and I had too many shots," I say in justification.

"Well…it's all just hearsay at this point," she initially hesitates.

"Please, Leah," I plead.

She sighs, but her remorse is replaced with a smirk. "Apparently there was dancing on the bar involved, some impromptu karaoke, and then you snuck behind the bar and guzzled straight out of the beer taps like you were Pauly Shore in _Encino Man._"

My eyes go wide, and she reaches across the bar top to pat my hand in consolation."Don't worry," she says with a playful wink. "I hear it was all very PG-13…Besides the part where you convinced everyone in the bar to participate in a wet t-shirt contest."

I press my fingers against my temples and close my eyes. A few shots and I apparently turn into the frickin' bartender from _Coyote Ugly_. I turn to Faith. "Is it really that important that we stay here tonight?" I pout.

Faith grins broadly. "I was just playing before, B, but now that I know I'm hanging out with the _legendary _Buffy Summers, I think we gotta stick around long enough to see the show."

Leah reaches under the counter and pulls out a bottled beer. She snaps the top off with a ring that doubles as a bottle opener and slides the beer in my direction. "Planning on a repeat performance tonight?"

I accept the proffered drink and greedily bring it to my lips. But, remembering that alcohol is the reason I'm in this mess, I hastily stop and yank it away from my mouth before any amber liquid can meet my lips. Instead, I set the bottle back on the bar top. "A world of no," I insist, making a horrified face. "And while we're at it, can I get a water with lemon instead? I'm never drinking alcohol again."

"Awww," Leah exaggeratedly pouts. "I always miss out on the really fun nights. Guess that's what I get for taking a weekend night off."

Leah reaches for my beer, but Faith's hand is quicker. She snatches it off the bar top and flashes a winning smile at the bartender. "Just cause B's off the juice doesn't mean I am."

Our bartender looks a little flustered. I don't blame her. Faith's dimples tend to do that. "Uh, s-sure," she nods. She gives us both a fluttering grin and walks down to the other end of the bar to serve some other waiting patrons.

I feel a light tap on my shoulder and I turn to find myself practically on top of Megan. I jump backwards just a little bit, startled by her proximity and the fact that it's _Megan._

_I'm not ready for this. I am _so _not ready for this right now._

"Hey, Buffy," she grins warmly. "I didn't know if you'd be back."

Faith slowly turns beside me, and I feel her arm slide around my waist and tighten.

"Oh, is this your _friend_?" Megan exclaims, noticing the woman standing next to me. "The one you were telling me about?"

I nod, but add nothing more that might encourage her to stick around. My mouth feels dry and I cast a glance in the direction of the bar, desperate for Leah to come back with my water.

Megan not-so-subtly rakes her eyes over Faith's body. It doesn't make me jealous because I'm used to people doing that, but I'm still not happy about it. "Well," she purrs, not taking her eyes off Faith, "now I know why you were so worried she'd disappeared," she says, giving me a wink.

I give her a pained smile, but still say nothing, hoping she'll just please _go away_. Megan's not an obtuse girl, however. She seems to recognize my uneasiness and offers me a less predatorial smile. "Well, I guess I'll see you around," she chuckles before turning on her heels and walking away.

"Who was that?" Faith immediately asks as Megan walks away without looking back. If I'm not mistaken, I can detect just the slightest bit of heated jealousy in her question.

I shy my head away from Faith's inquisitive gaze. "Just a girl."

"Uh huh." She's not convinced.

I suck in a sharp breath. "Ok, fine. She's the girl…that I…" I trail off, not wanting or willing to finish that sentence.

At first Faith's face reveals her confusion when I don't finish my sentence. But after a quick moment, her features darken in realization. I grab her by the bend of her elbows when her body jerks like she's about to take flight, catching her before she can storm off and do something we'll both regret.

"Let me go," she hisses. She tugs with annoyance at my hold.

My grip is unforgiving; I'm _not _letting her go – in more ways than one.

"You're mad at _me_, Fai. Not her," I gently remind her. This displaced anger is starting to become a habit. Another bad habit that I'm responsible for, unfortunately. My breath is soft against her ear, and I take the opportunity to place a single kiss near her earlobe. I can feel her tense figure relax just enough that I'm confident in releasing my hold.

Even though I'm convinced she's no longer going to stride across the room and promptly punch a hole through Megan's face, I'm unnerved by the way Faith continues to stare at her from across the slightly crowded bar.

"Is that your type?" she asks after a moment of unbroken glaring. Her voice sounds far away even though she's standing right next to me.

I take a moment to appraise the tattooed, goth-inspired girl now located across the room. Megan talks with a group of girls, oblivious or uncaring that Faith is shooting fire-y daggers at her with her eyes.

"My type?" My hand finds its way into Faith's. Her hand is warm and dry. "Honestly?"

Faith finally turns to look at me. I can see the apprehension in her face. "Am I gonna like the truth?"

I duck my head a little shyly. "Actually, I first noticed her because she kind of reminded me of _you_," I reveal. I look up and give her a lop-sided grin.

Faith flicks her eyes away from my face and back to where Megan stands. "No way do I look like that piece of –."

A well-placed finger interrupts her tirade. She crosses her eyes slightly and stares at my finger pressed against her full lips. "Don't," I gently chastise. "She's not important. None of that is. _You're _my type," I say. "Just you."

Her eyes uncross as she stops fixating on my finger. Her lips curve up, and I let my hand fall back to my side. "You gonna dance with me anytime soon?" she challenges, Megan' apparently forgotten. "I'm getting a little antsy."

"I gotta go to the bathroom first," I nod, "and then we can finally have that dance."

Faith slams the rest of her beer with alarming speed and ease. She wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand and sets the empty bottle on the bar. "I'll come with."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Don't trust me enough to go to the bathroom by myself?"

Her hand finds mine once again. There seems to be a lot of hand holding going on tonight, but I'm certainly not complaining. "Oh, I trust you, B. I just know that trouble has a habit of finding you," she jokes.

My bottom lip sticks out and she leans in to nip at it. I squeak and pull my lip back tight against my mouth. Her dark eyes twinkle under the club lights, making me warm all over.

She pulls on my hand and guides me through the crowds towards the back of the bar where the restrooms are located. I take the opportunity to admire her leather-clad backside as we make our way closer to the bathroom.

"Like the view?" she calls over her shoulder.

Normally getting caught staring at her would cause me to blush or at least make me tear my eyes away. But tonight is different. Tonight I've got nothing to hide.

The women's bathroom is dimly lit, but surprisingly large for such a modest-sized bar. I suppose it makes sense that the women's bathroom would be big at a _lesbian_ club though. The tiled room is narrow with a long-line of bathroom stalls along one wall and a string of mirrors and sinks located on the opposite wall.

A thickly built woman with spiky, bleach blonde hair and a lip piercing stands near the front door. "One at a time," she barks out.

She crosses her meaty arms across her ample breasts and glowers at those of us waiting in line, daring us to disobey her rule. When she glares at the girls at the front of the line who wait for the next available stall, a few shift their eyes to the ground.

"Why is there a bouncer in the girl's bathroom?" I covertly whisper to Faith. It's not like we're in _that _bad of a neighborhood where I'd be worried about getting stabbed in the restroom. This extra security makes no sense to me.

"Probably to make sure there's only one person in a stall at a time," she responds.

"Why would they…" I trail off and my eyes go wide when I suddenly answer my own question.

She smirks knowingly. "You can close your mouth now, B."

* * *

_Suggested Listening: Rhianna – "Where Have You Been"_

Back out in the club, we make our way to the semi-crowded dance floor. It's still early, but the bar has started to fill out since we went into the restroom. I can feel eyes on us as we make our way, hand-in-hand, towards the edge of the small dance floor. I don't know if it's because I'm now a local lesbian celebrity or if Faith and I just naturally attract onlookers. Either way, I feel myself wilting slightly beneath the attention.

When we find a space on the floor big enough for the two of us, Faith pulls me close and presses her mouth solidly against mine. When she pulls away, I'm slightly panting. "It's just you and me," she says, her dark eyes staring hard into my own. I nod, fixated on the smolder of her gaze.

She turns me around, grabs my hips, and pulls me close so my backside is cradled by her longer body. Her arms goes around my waist, and I feel her full breasts press into my back.

We swing back and forth like this for a few minutes, our bodies moving as one. The hand that's not holding me tightly around the waist wanders down to the bottom hem of my skirt. She innocently plays with the material, but I feel anything but innocent right now with her so close, but not close enough.

"I can't wait to get you home," she pants in my ear. Her fingers dangerously walk along the tops of my exposed thighs.

"There's always the bathroom," I say, unthinking. Some of our first intimate moments early in our relationship happened in the bathroom of clubs we'd hit up on our way home from routine patrolling.

Without saying a word, and before my brain has time to register what's happening, she clamps her warm hand around my wrist and drags me off the dance floor in the direction of the bathroom. She's moving with such speed and such purpose that I nearly trip over my heels trying to keep up with her hurried pace.

Faith slips into the women's restroom, pulling me behind her. There's no longer a line for the next stall. Most of the bathroom stalls appear empty, but a few women stand in front of the sinks and mirrors, washing their hands and fixing hair and make-up. Unlike before, the bouncer is standing on the opposite side of the long, narrow bathroom.

The formidable woman knocks hard on one of the closed stalls. "You'd better have four legs," she barks threateningly. The door immediately swings open and two women walk out, both ducking their heads and looking sheepish.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Faith pulls me into the second empty stall. So far we're undetected. I guess being a slayer has some perks.

My heart is pounding in my ears when I close and lock the stall door behind me. The adrenaline rush is not so unlike the thrill of slaying, which admittedly I've started to miss after only a short break from routine patrolling.

Faith's hands immediately circle my waist. "You gotta keep quiet," she husks into my ear. "Don't wanna get tossed out on our ass by that Big Bertha out there for breaking the rules."

"What about…" I gulp down a mouthful of air. My eyes drop to the floor. "Two sets of shoes," I point out.

She looks down to the floor as well. We may have snuck into the stall undetected, but it's only a matter of time before the burly female bouncer notices the extra pair of shoes in the single stall.

Her hands creep under the bottom hem of my skirt again. "Then we'll just have to make it look like there's only one person in here."

I raise a questioning eyebrow and her smirk turns into a leer. "Wrap your legs around my waist," is her whispered order.

Even though I know we have to be quiet or we'll be discovered, I can't help the small, pained whimper that creeps out my lips.

She grins and tightens her hold on my right thigh. "Hurry up, B," she quietly urges. "We don't have all night."

I worry my bottom lip, but obey. I channel all my energy to my toes and with a slight bend of my knees, hop up into her waiting arms. When I wrap my legs around her midsection, her left arms wraps around my waist. I feel her solid hand in the center of my back, keeping me steady. She rearranges my weight in her arms and I cling onto the back of her neck, worried she's going to drop me.

"Don't worry, B," she says with a small grunt. "I've got you."

She turns us around so my back is now up against one of the stall partitions. I'm practically pinned between her body and the wall, but it doesn't make me feel claustrophobic. Only turned on.

Her free hand, the one not holding me in place, creeps up the bottom hem of my skirt. "It's like you're a psychic or something," she burrs, "wearin' this tonight."

I bite my bottom lip when her free hand slides further up my muscled thigh beneath my thankfully loose skirt. Her fingertips lightly skate over my skin before coming to rest on the elastic of my underwear at my hip. She curls her fingers beneath the waistband, just teasing me.

Her lips purse. "Are these the red ones?" she asks quietly. Her hand is on the move again as if she's trying to map out the outline of my underwear with the tips of her fingers.

I shake my head. "They're purple. They're new," I manage to gurgle out.

Those slightly pursed lips curl up. "Just for me, huh?"

Before I can answer, she deepens the kiss. She flicks her tongue against my lower lip and I immediately part my mouth, allowing her access. I groan in disappointment when she pulls her hand out from under my skirt, and she bites back my sudden moan that threatens when her hand palms my breast over my camisole.

Her fingers curl over the low neckline of my top, and she gently pulls the stretchy material down, pulling down my bra cup along with it. She cups my bare breast, urgently kneading the pliable flesh, and I feel my nipples immediately respond to her aggressive touch. She knows how sensitive my nipples are, and even though this is just supposed to be a quick fuck in the women's restroom, she's still attentive as ever. Her nimble fingers pull and pinch at a hardened nipple, sending intense shocks of arousal straight to my core.

I cling tighter, squeezing her ribcage between my thighs and I scratch my short, polished nails down her back. She groans and presses her full weight against me more, pinning my back harder against the bathroom partition. I'm a little afraid we're going to destroy the bathroom and cause the stall walls to crash down, but when her hand leaves my breast to once again return to its position beneath my skirt, my fears evade me.

She arches her back, creating more room between our upper torsos. It's just enough room to allow her to slide her free hand between our bodies. Her fingers brush along my panty-covered slit, and I wonder if she can already feel my arousal through the material. I suck in a quiet, sharp breath when she starts to rub my clit through my underwear. She presses down with just the right amount of pressure that my hips involuntarily jerk forward. Even though my view is obscured because of my bunched up skirt, I can feel everything.

She buries her face in my neck. "So warm," she mumbles against my skin.

She continues to rub my clit through my underwear in lazy circles, and with my legs spread apart and wantonly wrapped around her torso, I have no choice but to get wetter and wetter. I bite down hard on my lower lip when she presses what feels like two fingers against my panty-covered hole. She presses harder, pushing the cotton material into me.

She continues with these maddening, shallow thrusts until I have no choice but to beg. I grip the back of her neck harder. "Please," I whimper.

I half expect to see a taunting, cocky look on her face, but when I look at her, I see only determination etched across her beautiful features. Her eyes are slightly narrowed and she licks at her lips in concentration. I'm a little worried that she's just going to rip my underwear completely off in her desire to get closer. But instead of destroying my new underthings, she pulls the crotch material out of the way and suddenly her fingers are slipping inside.

She slides into me hard, bottoming out. I gasp, just once, but it's sharp and loud and her two fingers immediately still inside me. We're silent, unmoving, as we both wait to see if we've been discovered. But after a tense minute passes with no one knocking on our stall door, her fingers start to move again. She flexes her digits, curling up into me. My head falls back, and I unintentionally bang my head against the metal partition wall.

"Careful, B," she quietly crows. "Don't give yourself a concussion."

The arm wrapped tightly around me slides down a little to give her other hand better range. She slowly, deliberately slips her fingers all the way out. She rubs my arousal against my clit before sliding back in. I gnash my teeth when she continues these careful ministrations. It's the only thing I can do, short of biting my tongue off, to keep from crying out.

"I wish I could see you," she growls lowly in my ear. Her breath is warm and wet. "I wanna see your pussy sucking on my fingers."

I close my eyes tight and release what I hope is a quiet, yet shuddered breath. I whimper in agreement. We need to get home so we can do this the right way.

She widens her stance and shifts my weight in her arm. To keep from falling, I flex my thighs and press my knees into her sides like I'm riding a horse. The thought gives me an idea. I grab onto her shoulders for better balance and leverage, and I start to roll my hips so I'm riding her fingers.

Her dark pupils blow as she watches me grind my pelvis against her hand. "Fuck," she moans in a pained tone. "God you're so fuckin' hot, B."

Sweat starts to trickle down the small of my back and a series of quiet grunts are coming from me, unbidden. She must feel me tightening around her fingers as my orgasm inches closer because her slow, deep thrusts have started to quicken. There's a tightening in the pit of my stomach, warning me that I'm close.

"Faith," I pant. "Don't stop, baby. I'm so close. _Please _don't stop," I desperately plead.

She fucks harder into me. "Never gonna stop," she promises.

When my orgasm crashes over me, it's with such force that I throw my head back. It feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs. My body goes rigid and my biceps ache from holding onto her so tightly. I can only imagine how tired _her _arms must be.

My eyes flutter close and my breathing is heavy. I can't tell if the sound throbbing in my ears is my rapidly pulsing heart or the echoing bass from the club. Faith's forehead is pressed against mine, and even though it feels slightly sweaty and sticky, you couldn't pull me away for all the lesbians in the world.

Our moment is broken, however, when a pack of loud, giggly women pour into the restroom. Their voices echo in the tiled room, and I slowly slide back down Faith so my feet are once against on the floor. My knees buckle when my shoes touch the ground and Faith's arm is back around my waist to steady me.

"You okay there?" she chuckles.

I nod sheepishly. "Yeah," I croak. The sound of my voice surprises me. It's strange to hear it echo in my ears after futilely trying to be quiet.

I suddenly hear the booming voice of the bathroom bouncer and I'm struck with a wave of panic. _Oh God. We're going to get caught. We're going to get dragged out of the bathroom by that woman out there and everyone will know what we were doing._

"I'll go out first, okay?" Faith says into my ear. Her warm breath tickles me. "Lock the door when I leave, and then you can follow me whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting by the bar."

I give her a relieved smile. I hope she recognizes that my anxiety isn't about being seen with her; I'm just a little embarrassed that we had _sex _in a _public restroom_. I'm already infamous enough at this bar without adding that to the list.

She leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. "Don't keep me waiting, cutie."

She leaves, and I refasten the lock on the bathroom stall. I wait a few beats before venturing out myself. Faith has gone back out into the club, but I walk straight to the sinks, not making eye contact with anyone.

I stand before the wall-length mirror and appraise my reflection. I straighten the neckline of my camisole and pull some paper towel off the rack to wipe the smeared lipstick off my mouth. It's Faith's color, not mine. I tilt my head to the side, continuing to inspect my reflection. My hair is slightly wild, but I kind of like the look, so I leave be rather than fuss about it not being perfectly flat-ironed anymore.

I smile broadly at the blonde woman in the mirror. To be honest, I look like I just had sex in a bathroom stall. And surprisingly, it doesn't bother me at all.

* * *

The night air is brisk, but it's not too cold, so we decide against calling a cab in favor of walking home. Since I behaved tonight, seemingly having passed her "do-over" test, we walk in the direction of her apartment, hand-in-hand.

I nuzzle into her shoulder when a crisp breeze ruffles my hair. "So is this the kind of stuff you were talking about before?" I squeeze her hand in mine to emphasize my question.

She looks down at our entwined fingers. We just seem to _fit_. "Yeah," she acknowledges with a broad smile. "This is great."

I bring our joined hands up to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. "So what else do you need me to do to prove myself?" I smile. "I'm eager to please."

She shrugs beneath her light leather jacket. "I honestly don't know what I want anymore. What's gonna be enough, I mean," she quickly clarifies, glancing in my direction. "The more I think about it, the more I know I'm being silly."

"Being silly?" I question. "About what?" I swing our hands back and forth in an exaggerated motion, unable to deny just how _free _and _uncomplicated _I feel right now. But maybe that's just the post-orgasmic glow.

"It's just silly cause I've been waiting for some big gesture from you, when I know it's the little things like this," she says, holding up our connected hands, "that matter more." She laughs quietly. "I mean, it's not like you can throw yourself a Coming Out parade down Main Street."

Her words cause me to stop mid-stride and our hands slip apart. Faith only walks a few more steps before she realizes I'm not still beside her. She stops and turns to quizzically appraise me. "You okay?" she asks.

I nod and feel a strange smile creep onto my lips. It's almost a manic smile, I'm sure, because I suddenly know how I'm going to get this girl. And more importantly, keep her.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

**POV Faith**

Fuckin' eh. Of all the nights to be running late.

I hustle down the sidewalk, annoyed that I couldn't find a parking spot for my bike closer to the store. Who knew that Friday nights in downtown Cleveland was even a thing?

I'm on my way to the Magic Shop for its grand re-opening. Willow insisted that since it's a magic shop of the occult variety, and not the rabbit-in-the-hat kind, that the actual christening celebration be held at night. I'd planned on doing a quick sweep of the closest cemeteries and then hustle downtown to help finish setting up for the party, but I didn't anticipate running into a Frophla demon and getting slime all over my clothes.

After a quick shower and a new change of clothes, I'm now wicked late for Willow's party. Normally I wouldn't care about showing up to this thing late, but I know it's important to Buffy that I'm there to support her friend, so therefore it's important to me. Whatever. I'm whipped.

Speaking of Buffy, I actually haven't seen her since we had our do-over at Crossroads nearly a week ago. It's certainly not on purpose though. Patrol has been busier than usual, or at least busier than Cleveland patrols have typically been, so my nights have been pretty long. She's still taking a well-deserved break from slaying, but I'm hopeful she'll come back to it soon.

It's not that I can't handle being the go-to slayer here on the Midwest Hellmouth, but fuck, I miss patrolling and slaying with her. I haven't told _her _that though, cause I don't want to guilt her back into slaying before she's ready to come back on her own. I know she'll come back eventually though. I know better than anyone, you can't run from your Calling.

Even though I haven't seen her in the flesh in a week, we've still talked on the phone nearly every night after I get back from patrol. I've subtly tried to invite myself over, but she's not taking the bait. But truthfully, it's actually been kind of nice just talking to her. When we're around each other, we kind of have this bad habit of not really having meaningful conversations – just a lot of bumping and grinding. Not that there's anything _wrong _with that, but this talking thing is a nice change of pace for us. It feels mature. Evolved. Like what we're tentatively exploring again might actually work this time.

When I finally get to the Magic Shop, everything looks totally dark inside. Did I get the date wrong? Am I hustling down the street with damp hair for nothing? As I walk closer, I can see there's a piece of paper taped to the front door: "Closed For Private Event. Sorry For The Inconvenience."

Puzzled, I try the front door and find it unlocked. I push into the store, and everything is bathed in darkness. I let my eyes adjust to the lack of light. There's no sign of anyone, let alone any indication that today was supposed to be the grand re-opening of Willow's store. No balloons, no streamers, no dorky little Grand Re-Opening banners. I let the moonlight and streetlamps shining through the windows guide me toward a light panel on the far wall. I flip the switches, but nothing happens. Still no lights.

I hear a noise coming from downstairs, and my slayer instincts immediately kick in. I'm apparently not alone. Knowing the Scoobies' luck, word got out about the grand re-opening and some kind of nasty crashed the party and it's holding everyone captive in the basement.

I pull out the curved knife that I had the foresight to stick in my jacket lining, and I tensely grip the handle. I silently make my way to the basement entrance and slowly open the door that leads downstairs.

I fumble for the wall panel I know is at the top of the stairs, but when I try that switch, nothing happens. I flip the toggle up and down a few times, but not even a nightlight turns on. Aided by nothing but the moon spilling through the shop windows, I carefully creep my way down to the basement level. I grimace when the wooden stairs creek beneath my feet. So much for being stealthy.

My ears prick when I once again hear hushed noises and rustling coming from the darkened shadows.

"That had better be a fuckin' rat," I growl menacingly. Not that I'm particularly fond of rats, but you get the idea.

"Surprise!"

The overhead lights suddenly turn on, flooding the basement with their light, and about two dozen people jump out from behind crates and boxes. I grab onto my heart as if it's about to explode out of my chest. "Holy shit!" I curse loudly, dropping my knife. It clatters noisily on the concrete floor.

My reaction evokes a few good-natured giggles at my expense.

"What is this?" I demand, looking around at all the familiar, smiling faces for some kind of answer. It's not my birthday or any kind of holiday. What am I getting 'surprised' for?

The group parts and Buffy rushes through the middle to envelop me in a giant hug. "Do you like it?" she excitedly breathes in my ear.

I pull back from her embrace, still totally confused. "If I knew what _it _was, I might be able to give you an answer."

"It's a coming out party," she states like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Coming out party?" I echo. "What am I coming out of? A cocoon?"

She swats at my arm and laughs. "It's not for you, silly. It's for me." The way she's grinning at me you'd think it was Christmas morning and she just got a fuckin' pony from Santa Claus.

I knit my eyebrows together. "If this is a party for you, then why did people jump out and surprise _me_?"

She looks a little bashful. "Okay, so maybe that part is a little confusing," she grumbles. "I didn't quite know how to throw myself a Coming Out party. It's not like there's etiquette books on it. I looked, too."

The words are finally making sense.

"You…you told them about us?" I sputter in disbelief. "_All_ of them?"

She nods and gives me a small, expectant smile.

I look around at the gathered group. All the gang is here: Xander, Dawn, Giles, Willow, Kennedy, even Andrew and Robin, plus a gaggle of some of the more experienced slayerettes. It's actually surprising to see all of these people in the same room at once. Giles, Andrew, Robin, and some of the older girls like Vi and Rona are supposed to be looking over slayer cells in other parts of the world. It looks more like we're gathering to fight an apocalypse, not…celebrate Buffy being gay? They came back to Cleveland for _this_?

I'm a little overwhelmed. Buffy Summers, Miss-I-Care-Too-Much-About-What-Other-People-Think-Of-Me, told the people closest to her, hell, even her _Watcher_ that she's gay. For me.

My silence must be rattling her because when I remain quiet, her smile fades and her forehead crumples. "Is it…is it too much?" she asks, worriedly. She chews on her bottom lip.

I shake my head. "No, no," I insist. "I'm just…surprised, that's all."

Her grin returns to her beautiful face. And she hugs me again and kind of _squeals _with excitement. Shit.

"So, uh, what exactly happens at a Coming Out party?" I ask, taking the time to really look around the room.

The storage space has been cleaned up, organized, with magic supplies shoved and stacked out of the way to make enough room for all the people gathered. There's finger food laid out on a few of the taller wooden crates, and I spy a blue ice chest full of drinks in one corner. Some of the younger girls, who I'm not sure are even legal drinking age, are hovering hungrily around the beer and booze.

"I'm the DJ!" Dawn yells out suddenly.

I quirk an eyebrow at Buffy. "You're trusting your sister with the music?"

She gracefully shrugs. "It'll keep her out of trouble."

The music abruptly starts up, something pop-y and Top 40 pouring out of an iPod boom box, but it's a good beat, so I don't mind. People start to couple up and dance around in larger groups in the confined space.

I rest my hand on Buffy's hip. "You gonna dance with me," I ask, "in front of all your friends and family?"

She leans in and gives me a kiss so sweet, it's gotta be made from cotton candy. "I thought you'd never ask," she purrs.

When I feel Buffy's hands wander down to my ass and _squeeze_, I let out an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise. So many surprises tonight. I don't know if my heart can handle them all. "B! What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted everyone to know you're _mine_," she husks into my ear.

She bites down on my lower lip, and hell if I can keep back my pathetic whimper. "You know…I wasn't _serious_ about that public sex thing," I murmur.

She grins back at me with what I can only describe as her best Faith-Lehane-smirk.

I anxiously glance around the room to see if anyone saw her PDA. Everyone seems too wrapped up in their own thing to really notice us though. It's kind of funny. I feel like the tables have been flipped. Normally B is the one who worries about this kind of stuff. Guess it's time for me to evolve and keep up with this new version of exhibitionist, Out-and-Proud Buffy.

Willow's voice carries over the din of the crowd, causing us to stop dancing. "Can I get everyone's attention for a minute?" Her eyes scan over the group, waiting for everyone to quiet down. The music is turned off and everyone in the room gives Willow their undivided attention.

"I-I'm not good at big speeches," she starts out apologetically. She twitters a little, looking nervous now that she's the center of attention. "That's usually Buffy's territory."

A few murmurs of agreement reach my ears. And I snap my gaze around the room to make sure no one's mocking B.

"But, I just wanted to thank all of you for, uh, _coming out_ tonight," she chuckles at her own pun, "to celebrate this milestone for my best friend, Buffy."

"Here! Here!" Xander yells out, holding a half-empty beer bottle in the air.

"Together, we've all been through a lot these past few years," Willow continues seriously. "And we've all loved and lost someone close in the process." She pauses, getting momentarily choked up. She doesn't need to elaborate. We all know who she's talking about.

I start to feel a little awkward because Kennedy's standing right next to her. But I'm pleasantly surprised when I see nothing but support and sympathy in Kennedy's body language. She smiles, albeit little sadly, at her girlfriend, and pats her arm in solidarity. Willow flashes her partner a grateful smile.

"Anyway," Willow says, shaking her head and wiping away at her watery eyes, "I think the biggest lesson I've learned along the way is that as long as there's _love _in the world, we're all going to be okay." She raises her red Solo cup in the air. "So, here's to love."

"To love!" we all chant, raising our glasses and bottles in the air in salute.

"I'm next!" Dawn speaks up. She waits until all eyes are on her. She holds her party cup up in one hand. "Buffy," she starts in a sticky voice dripping with too much sincerity, "You know I love you."

There's a collective, feminine coo'ing and aww'ing that makes me want to vomit.

Dawn's lips curl into a mischievous smile. "And even though you're not cool enough to be Faith's girlfriend, if it makes you both happy, I'm all for it."

"Hey!" Buffy protests. She stomps her foot on the concrete floor. "I'm hip, too."

I grin at her. She can be so childish and petulant, but she's all the more adorable because of it.

"Well I, for one," Kennedy obnoxiously bellows as she swings a beer bottle in the air, "just want to say how _relieved _I am that you two stopped fighting each other long enough to finally get together. It's about damn time."

"Preach!" Rona cheers out.

My cheeks grow hot beneath all this unwanted attention.

"Faith Lehane. Are you blushing?" Buffy giggles quietly at me. She bumps her hip into mine. "I never realized how much I like the color _pink _on you," she teases.

"This is ridiculous, B," I mumble. "No one does this kind of stuff."

"Well, _we're _not just anyone," she points out, slipping an arm around my waist. "You and me, we're special."

"We're not the Chosen Two anymore," I remind her in a voice loud enough for only her to hear. "Kind of like two of the Chosen thousands now."

Her grin grows wider and she leans into me until I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my cheek. "I wasn't talking about the Slayer-thing." She nibbles on my earlobe.

There's a collective clearing of throats, and I reluctantly turn away from Buffy's hazel-green eyes to see everyone staring at us. Apparently they weren't finished with their speech giving.

"Geez, you guys." Dawn quips. She rolls her eyes. "Get a room."

The speeches continue like that for a while, everyone wanting to take a shot at either B or me, or both. But because B's got her arm around my waist and her head resting on my shoulder, the words just kind of blur together and sound like the adults on those Charlie Brown cartoons.

When it looks like the toasting has finally come to an end, Dawn starts the music back up and people start drinking, eating, and dancing. Buffy and I are kind of hovering around the food table, picking at stuff, but not really eating.

I walk up behind her. "So…think anyone would notice if we slipped out?" I husk into her ear.

My girl spins on her heels. "Faith!" she chastises me. "It's a party for _us_. We can't just _leave._"

I can't help it. I start to pout. "But I can't wait to get you by yourself."

Buffy smirks at me. "I thought you wanted to be in _public _with me?"

"Maybe I changed my mind," I grin.

"Oh?" She quirks a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "So you want me back in the Closet?"

I look around. "That's a good idea. Are there any closets we could hide out in? Just for a little while?"

Her hand slides into mine and our fingers seem to know the way because they immediately intertwine like this is what they were made to do. Forget being a Slayer. I was made to love this woman. And from the look coming from those deep, pooling, hazel-green eyes, I know that she was made to love me, too.

FIN


End file.
